


The Craving in Between

by love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Infidelity, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Romance, Sex, Sexting, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, Texting, Very happy ending, anyway, everyone deserves a friend like Irene, not between john and sherlock, so if you even remotely like her this story is not a good choice, there will be some secondary pairings, wedding planner Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysleepyhead/pseuds/love_in_mind_palace
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, The wedding Consultant. Picky about his projects and a nightmare to work with. Rejects ninety percent of the couples after just having a look at them and can predict how long a marriage will last. But when unassuming, plain, John Watson reluctantly limps his way in his office, with his more than enthusiastic fiancée, Mary Morstan, instead of dismissing the ill-assorted couple on the spot, he promptly decides that the project, and the groom.. are definitely worth working on.





	1. I'm not frightened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lucretialikestoread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretialikestoread/gifts).



> This fic idea is the brainchild of my dear friend Claudia. And I took the opportunity to make it into a story. Writing this was fun. Lots of thanks and love for the friends without whom I cannot do a thing. Kate, Louise and Luna. Thanks for all the beta works and reminding me to write and thanks for just existing. Kate, thank you for all the pretty edits for this fic (especially the one at the beginning of chapter 1), Claudia I hope you like your belated birthday gift :D
> 
> This work is now complete.
> 
> 1) *Spoilary* and gorgeous [fanart](http://221booksinthetardis.tumblr.com/post/172552370998/for-love-in-mind-palace-a-scene-from-her) by the lovely [@221booksinthetardis](http://221booksinthetardis.tumblr.com/).
> 
> 2) Super cool [edit](https://murphyswhitehair.tumblr.com/post/171367428637/would-you-sing-up-to-johnlockflix-a-streaming) for this story by [@murphyswhitehair](https://murphyswhitehair.tumblr.com).
> 
> 3) Marvelous [fanvid](http://mikabee.tumblr.com/post/173102605397/delicate-taylor-swift-cover-by-sam-tsui-and) for this story by [@mikabee](http://mikabee.tumblr.com).

 

 

> **_Whoever you are, holding me now in hand,_  **  
>  **_Without one thing, all will be useless,_  **  
>  **_I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further,_ **  
>  **_I am not what you supposed, but far different._ **
> 
> **_\- Walt Whitman_ **

 

 

John took a sip of his coffee and twisted his face in disgust. The coffee didn’t taste like it was supposed to. Too bitter? A bit too much milk? He was not sure. He wasn’t sure that he even wanted the coffee in the first place but got it anyway. Now John thought about it, he was sure that this was the third day in a week where he bought a coffee and didn’t drink it. Was there something called peer pressure in the workplace? Everyone grabbed a coffee at lunch. John grabbed one too. It had always been like that.

“Hey John!”

The philosophical thoughts about peer pressure, bad coffee and something else John was going to think about (because he still had fifteen minutes left to waste and eating the sandwich took only five minutes) came to a hitch because it was Mike. In his all wide smiled glory, lab coat and general lively presence.

“Hello Mike.” John smiled politely. Mike was a good guy and deserved politeness.

“Meera saw the news on Twitter. Congratulations on the engagement, mate!”

Mike was smiling more and patting John’s good shoulder. Thankfully. Previous encounters mostly resulted in the wrong shoulder being patted, John flinching and Mike apologizing like he was responsible for the end of the world.

So this had been progress. John felt mindful of any progress because sometimes it felt like the world around him was not moving at all or worse, moving backwards.

“Thank you, Mike.” John tried to smile more politely, like a man should when someone congratulates you on your engagement and hoped very hard that his smile looked natural enough. Because every time someone had mentioned the news about the engagement, a slight freezing sensation had started to rise in his chest. John was almost sure that if he thought about that deeply, there was a reason for this panic rooted somewhere within but he never indulged. Instead he just brushed it aside as engagement nerves. He was thirty-six. Should he be panicked at the prospect of an engagement? Where it is with his girlfriend of one and a half years?

“Thank you.”

Did he say thank you twice? Fuck. He was nervous.

Mike didn't seem like he minded at all. He smiled heartily and said something about starting to plan the wedding soon or else they would end up getting married in a dingy church or whatever and how his sister last year got married and it was hell organising the occasion because it was a big event to arrange if they are interested in something extravagant. Otherwise a church and two witnesses were enough.

John wanted to tell the truth. That he wouldn’t really mind getting married quietly. Or that it really didn’t matter how he got married because there was a problem at a basic level. He was not sure if he even wanted to get married in the first place.

But he didn’t say that. Or more precisely, he couldn’t.

He just cleared his throat and made an attempt to answer properly.

“Um. We... We are going to consult someone. Mary thinks it is impossible for us to arrange a wedding with our ongoing jobs and everything. So a wedding planner is the best bet. She wants it big. People don’t get married everyday.”

He repeated the line Mary constantly fed him when discussing the size of the wedding, spurring memories of arguments and nights spent alone. He absentmindedly sipped his coffee to find that it had gone cold. Making the coffee worse than it already was. What was the coffee made of? Melted Plastic?

“Oh. A wedding planner? Seems like a good idea. A clever idea.” Mike laughed. “I am not really familiar with this whole thing. Who are you going to talk to?”

John clenched his fist. “Mary chose him. I have zero knowledge about this stuff. He is famous enough. Mary got his name from your wife, Meera. He planned her sister’s wedding last winter? Looked beautiful enough. I saw some photos.”

“Oh… You mean Sherlock Holmes?” Mike snapped his fingers, remembering.

“Yes. Him. Known face, yeah? That catchphrase... ‘Weddings don’t happen…’ ” John gestured vaguely.

“‘Weddings are made…’ Yes. That bloke. Looks charming enough. His work looks equally charming.” Mike nodded his head in agreement to his statement.

“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. We are meeting him tomorrow.” John shrugged and fiddled with the edge of the cup. He just didn't want to think about the wedding. Didn't want anyone to remind him either.

“Ah, good luck with that. Again. Congratulations.” Mike walked away after patting his shoulder again.

John continued to stare until Mike walked out of the cafe. Until the tail of his coat disappeared around the corner. He waited a few moments and then stood up from the metal chair of the cafe. The chair clanked away with his shifting, making an ugly screeching sound. He dropped the paper cup in the trash can and walked towards his office, the walking stick making a steady sound in the hallway as he walked.

His leg started to hurt suddenly. More than it had hurt in the last few months. It was hard to not acknowledge its existence when the gnawing pain became too overwhelming. Irony was that the pain should not exist in the first place. John was not sure that treating a bunch of whining adults was gonna help him get out of his gloomy mood. But it would at least make him forget the painfully existing, non-existing pain. Lesser of the two evils.

The bottom line was, John could not remember the last time a decision made him happy. Maybe pursuing a medical degree was a happy decision. Maybe joining the army was a happy decision. But that was years ago. A relationship was not a sensible decision but it kept him stable and stopped him from feeling too miserable all the time. But it was not a particularly happy decision.

And now a wedding.

The hallway was not cold. But a shiver ran through his skin. John adjusted his coat more tightly around him.

He was the one who proposed. That left him partially responsible for everything that would come. Of course he was a responsible, adult man in charge of his own doings and the results it brought.

He never asked himself if he wanted the wedding.

Mary wanted it. Mary wanted a family, kids maybe someday, nice little house in the suburbs, trips to the zoo, a steady flow of earnings. Mary wanted an engagement, dropping hints subtly and not so subtly for the past few months how both of them were way over thirty and everyone around them was getting settled. Mary had a way with words. It never failed to make an impression. Impression was a weak word. It always left a dent.

Neither John nor Mary ever asked John what _he_ wanted.

A dinner date, a diamond ring. The usual. The most John knew.

He wore his corduroy suit. Ordered the champagne. Mary had looked almost happy and had kissed him. And then had glanced at the ring twice more and remarked how the diamond was little. But cute. There was a smile on her face. But her eyes didn't smile.

“You are the best thing that has happened to me.”

John wasn't sure about that really but it was customary to say nice words when you were proposing to your girlfriend of almost two years… And Mary was at least responsible for some of the stability in his life. There was no way to deny that. And moreover, Mary wanted to hear it because her face had a smug smile hanging on it when she agreed indeed she was the best thing that had happened to him. Now that was done and delivered. John was sure that would take the edge of his worries out.

She looked nice that night. Her blond hair reflected the soft lights of the restaurant. John was suddenly reminded of the smiling woman he bumped into at the park almost two years ago. She had shorter hair back then. Liked strawberry ice cream and loved to talk about music. She used to work in a smaller library . They started off as friends and started dating after just three months.

The main factor behind it was that she was nice enough to pay attention to John and secondary, John was a tiny bit desperate. It worked for a long time. That codependency. The whole of it worked.

But people changed. John couldn't remember the last time they shared a strawberry ice cream or went to a concert. Mary slowly became nonchalant but didn't argue with John or leave him. So John became desperate and did what he thought was best. The promise of marriage. He didn't know the future. But at least for now he would not be alone.

Stomach full of food and wine they had stumbled into their bedroom. Mary smelt like roses and felt soft. John felt a little drunk and turned on. He could not stop giggling. Mary was surprisingly steady.

John had told her how he would peel away the mauve coloured gown from her slowly. How he would kiss every inch of skin on her and make her feel good. How much he loved her and how happy he was now that they were engaged. This was a night for celebration. Never ending celebration.

“I am tired, John. I am really not interested in anything besides sleep.”

Mary had yawned and slipped away from his loose grip and vanished into the bathroom. The door had closed with a thud. It felt like a slap. John was too drunk to care about that. He had shrugged and peeled away his own suit leaving it as a heap in the corner of the room. He hated it. Mary hated it. Again, too drunk to care. Too immersed in an unknown feeling to even give a fuck about it.

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep with his worn-out libido and throbbing head was Mary talking on her phone beside the window in a hushed voice. Her tone sounded not particularly cheerful. John heard just a little. Or maybe it was all in his head.

“What can I say, Beth? I expected too much.”

John didn’t remember anything the next morning. Didn’t want to.

 

****

 

“This is a fancy office. Okay, too fancy. I am feeling out of place here.” John looked at the mirror by his side again. The sofa was soft. Extremely soft. John Watson’s arse was not used to that kind of sofa. And the soft, grey carpet covering the whole waiting area must have cost more than John Watson and his one year of army pension combined.

“Fancy stuff.” John murmured again.

“You feel out of place everywhere, John.” Mary chimed in from his side. Eyes still on her phone screen. Fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard. Twitter. John knew the layout. What was she tweeting? How careless John was?

John didn’t reply. Yes, it was true. John felt out of place everywhere. In London, Inside his house, in his own flesh. It made his skin crawl. And his tremor came back every time he was reminded of the fact of how unfit he was in society. How hard he was trying to fit in, to pass as normal.

A small flat in a calm locality, a fiancée, the prospect of marriage, a nice and hassle free suburban life. John was trying. And failing a bit. Slowly, failures increasing everyday. Like the ever growing avalanche rolling from the mountain while John tried to shove it under a thin carpet. You can try to shove an avalanche under a carpet but that doesn’t make it go away. Or stop it from spilling at every side and spiralling out of control.

John shook his head slowly to keep the intrusive thoughts at bay. He would try. He could do this. He could have a normal life. As normal of a life a person could have with nightmares and a psychosomatic limp and a very bad shoulder. And pity. Thousands of people in London must live like that.

A pretty woman in a very modest looking dress smiled at them sweetly from the reception. Her brown ponytail and bangs over her face reminded John of Harry. Well, Harry from many years ago. When she used to go to high school shaking her ponytail and when she was sober and liked to dance to the tunes of Queen. Not the alcoholic who called John at midnight sometimes and John picked up the phone every time in spite of Mary’s irritated face and listened if Harry had something to say.

She usually never did. She fell asleep most of the time. The times she didn't, she would spew swears at their father and sometimes in a slurred voice would say how she missed John and she knew John must hate her and she missed mother. John would hold the phone to his ear until his knuckles would go white or his ear went numb. Clara would apologize in the morning calling John at his office about how Harry drank again and John could hear her attempt of trying to not burst into tears.

That was months ago. Clara had filed for divorce one month after she and John had to pick Harry up from a bar at the dead centre of town. John was awake the whole night watching his sister, or the broken and wasted shadow of the sister he once had.

Harry wasn’t broken like that when she and Clara got married. The football coaching job paid well. She looked happy and content. John had found the hope for something like love happening in his life too. Because every time he would notice Harry picking up flint from Clara’s jacket with the fondest smile on her face, the world seemed like a place to live for. John used to go to her team’s matches and the sight of Harry being excited made his heart full of something warm. Clara used to say over and over about how proud she was for Harry and her achievements.

Harry proved everyone wrong. Proved Clara wrong by showing how pathetic a spouse and an overall hopeless human being she could be. Proved John wrong by showing him that love never stayed the same. John learnt a lesson and his trust issues grew bigger and bigger.

The woman tucked her hair behind her ear and looked like she wanted to say something.

“Hi, I am Molly,” Then a pause. “You are a lovely couple.” Mary smiled too politely. It looked unsettling. John smiled back as well. “You have an appointment in ten minutes from now, right?” John nodded. “I think he is almost done with this meeting. Might take less… What?”

The question was directed at neither John nor Mary. It was at the bluetooth headset she had on her ear. A small sigh came out of her listening to the person on the other side. The blue light was blinking. “Oh, okay.”

She turned to John and Mary with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, looks like you _have_ to give him ten minutes. He...”

The frosted glass door swung open and a man with a trimmed beard and a woman in high heels and flaming red hair came out through it. Both of them were expensively dressed. The man was almost running to keep up with the woman who in spite of her at least six inch high heels was walking impressively fast.

“Cheryl? Really? With my chauffeur? Seriously?” The man was shouting and the woman was trying to pay no attention to his words. They were outside in a few seconds. Bits and pieces of the angry shouting could still be heard.

Molly looked extremely distressed and her hands were in front of her in a very defensive manner. John tried to take a grasp at the whole situation. Looked like someone was having an affair and somehow that came to the light at the very wrong place and very publicly. Mary glanced at him with questioning eyes. He shrugged back in return.

A woman with a very sumptuous presence walked out of the door with slumped shoulders. Blinking her eyes as if in disbelief. She looked defeated. John saw her making eye contact with the receptionist. A silent conversation passing between them and in a few seconds both of them disappeared inside the frosted glass door.

“Well, that’s some drama.” Mary snorted. “Better quality than tv soaps.”

“Yeah… I bet it is.” John replied absentmindedly.

It didn’t take ten minutes. Only eight and a half or so. The woman, Molly came back and settled in her seat. Then some minutes later the other woman, dark hair and far too elegant, emerged and guided them inside with a smile hanging from her blood red lips.

The woman introduced herself as Irene, Mr Holmes’ assistant. And showed them chairs to sit on. Then disappeared behind another adjacent door. John could hear conversation in a hushed tone.

The chair in the middle was empty. But not for long. Before John could appreciate the softness of the chair, a man walked inside. And the world went a bit brighter.

Too fine a specimen of a man.

John knew that face. He had seen it on a glossy magazine cover. The man had looked expensive on it. But that was not even the half of it.

Starting from his navy blue suit (Dolce and Gabbana? Dior? He only knew the brand names and the models displaying the unachievable clothes), to his artfully styled hair (looked like bed head but not really), the man in front of him was something. It was the man from the glossy magazines but also not.

His presence filled the room. Like somewhere a light bulb was flicked on or this man was the missing source of the light itself. The swift way he unbuttoned his jacket and sat gracefully, John had to check his mouth was not gaping open. What the fuck are those eyes? He thought the photos were edited or something because no way people could have cheekbones like that. Wait, why was he here? Mary. Wedding. Right.

The man straightened the pens on his desk, opened the drawer and brought out a notebook. Then looked straight into John’s eyes for a moment. Then his gaze shifted to Mary and then back at John again.

“Welcome to my office, Dr Watson and Miss Morstan. I guess you are here to seek help for a wedding.” He smirked.

“Yes.” John blurted out and instantly felt stupid. Of course they were here for that and it was just a manner of speaking. He should just nod and smile back. God, that man had a beautiful smile.

“I am Sherlock Holmes. Wedding consultant. Honoured to meet you.” His voice was so extremely rich.  Melted chocolate, firewood crackling, thunder rumbling, so many sins happening at once. The woman, Irene was standing beside him like a porcelain doll. Not one inch of muscle moving. Hand on his chair. Her jaw tight. Expression too stern.

“We are honored to meet you in person, Mr Holmes.” Mary was smiling wide and too enthusiastic. Sherlock threw a polite smile at her and looked back at John again.

John felt his palms sweating. What was this man looking at? It was not particularly uncomfortable but not entirely comfortable either. Was the lighting in the room doing some sort of trick or were his eyes really that odd shade? Odd but gorgeous. Breathtaking. In every literal way.

What now?

What was he thinking about? He was there to talk about a wedding. His wedding. How to arrange the gateway to a happily ever after with the woman he loved. Not to praise the aesthetic quality of the man they are consulting with. This was humiliating to himself.

“So, you were in the military, Dr Watson? That is fascinating.” The man’s eyes shone bright. And for a few seconds John was taken aback at the sudden and out of place question.

Two years back from the war. And it was the first time someone recognized the soldier underneath his skin without him telling them first.

The last time he felt this excited was when he met Elton John at a coffee shop and behaved like a twelve year old while Mary rolled her eyes beside him. That was a different kind of giddiness.

But this type was different. The man in front of him was not his idol. He had no idea who he was besides the fact that he was a very observant man. John realized he was smiling. And the man was smiling back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I run a blog at [tumblr](http://love-in-mind-palace.tumblr.com)  
> where my days are spent just loving the love of these two idiots. Come say Hi!


	2. I'm not frightened of anything

 

> **_I no longer believed in the idea of soulmates,_ **   
>  **_or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that_ **   
>  **_a very few times in your life, if you were lucky,_ **   
>  **_you might meet someone who was exactly right for you._ **   
>  **_Not because he was perfect, or because you were,_ **   
>  **_but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way_ **   
>  **_that allowed two separate beings to hinge together._ **
> 
> **_― Lisa Kleypas, Blue-Eyed Devil_**  
>     
>  

 

Bit immature. As Irene stated quite often. Yes, Sherlock knew it. But he couldn’t help it most of the time. It was like a force of nature. Unstoppable and immovable. Even if he wanted to. Which he rarely did.

The thing was that it had to be perfect. Starting from the state of the relationship of the couple to the satin bow on the flower bouquet. Because this was not just a job to him. This was his life. To see the perfection of things he did. To see people being amazed with his creations. To devour the astonished look in people’s eyes with every pore. That’s why clients had to be compatible. That's why any discrepancy threw him off. It was worse when he didn’t particularly like his clients.

There was a vibe. Quite a bad one. It was not about the client or anything else associated with the planning. He had talked about locations, tasted cake with two clients that morning and he had not felt this bad, although one of the grooms had been so oversharing that it bordered on irritating. But it was fine. Still more than tolerable.

That afternoon he would do better if he didn’t have any meetings at all. It was one of those days. When it felt like even the slightest sound or the faintest light could hurt you. Those days when a certain feeling just pasted itself on your skin. Your skin turns blue and the world turns unbearable but no one can see a thing. Neither can they understand.

The man was talking too much from the beginning. And the woman remained silent. Looking bored although it was supposed to be about her own wedding. Brides were always excited. And especially when it was a bride like her. From her Jimmy Choo stilettos to her engagement ring with a blinding diamond, she was supposed to be talking about how the location should be unique or how the theme should be pastel with bling or some shite like that.

But instead the woman looked like she had no intention of being there, refreshing her lipstick once then texting on her phone. And sometimes joining in the conversation to talk about what _Arthur_ thought about the wedding. What _Arthur_ suggested the best place could be. What _Arthur_ says the menu should be like.  

Arthur was the chauffeur. It was too easy. Too tempting not to reveal. And it looked like a solution out of a project which had no potential left.

They came via very high channels. Mr Taylor was very proud of his fiancée and soon to be trophy wife. He needed to mention at least twice how much he spent on her and how much he wanted to spend for the extravagant wedding.

Did he know that it was never for the money? That it stopped mattering as soon as his fiancée made an annoyed face when he went to hold her hand.

So when for the third time she talked about seeing no point in spending money on such a consultant who was not ready to listen to her thoughts and was going to be there just to assist her, after all, ‘we are paying the fee’, his patience broke.

“Miss Brown, spare your husband. You know this wedding won't do any good to either of you.”

He had to say it. Because it certainly fell in the category of weddings he simply wouldn’t do.

“Pardon?” The woman went very still.

“Tell him about Arthur. It will save both of you the trouble. This already looks too unsettling. I cannot consult your wedding.”

Then it was a shitstorm. But at least it didn't happen later on in the stage. First rule was always deduce the couple to check their compatibility. It was never about the money. It was about the execution and completion. And how much he tolerated the couple. Because tolerating was good enough. Never in his life had he ever thought about liking a couple. At least not since two years ago.

He had rejected a filthy rich customer in his career who was ready to pour gold on his feet while happily arranging the wedding of two shy, twentysomething girls. One of them was ready to chew her toenails off in anxiety while Sherlock talked. They looked like they were over the moon when he gave them huge discounts on everything for their small, goth wedding. The smiles on their faces was priceless. It was payment enough. He remembered sitting with them on the floor of his flat going over the sitting arrangements over and over because up until two years ago, his favourite clients would visit him in his flat, not just the professional atmosphere of the sometimes claustrophobic office. It was heartwarming to watch their happy faces while they talked about the hem of the bride’s dress or the best tiepin to match the groom’s suit.

The last tiepin he chose had a little topaz in it. It really matched the groom’s eyes in the light of the setting sun. The grooms were overjoyed. And it looked like it was going to be a happy marriage. Only mistake of his life.

When Mr Taylor and Miss Brown had stormed out of the room, Irene followed. She did it every time he rejected a customer. Going after them to provide the courtesy Sherlock never did. And after taking a few steady breaths he was in dire need of a cigarette. He had another appointment in ten minutes which he wished he didn't. He really wasn't feeling well. In mind. Body. Anywhere. Everywhere.

“Now, what was that? Do you understand how much of an opportunity you just let pass through your fingers? All because of your arrogance, Sherlock!”

Sherlock realized Irene was talking in a rather high voice. “Some things do affect your reputation. You are not over or above everything!” No, not a high voice. She was definitely screaming. But why?

“Why are you even surprised I don’t understand?” Sherlock turned to face her. “You know I always follow the rules. First of all, I do not take every case. Irrespective of how much the client is able to pay me. Secondly...”

“You don’t have to repeat that to me.” Irene cut him off. “I know. You don't listen to people ordering you and third, no personal involvement. I know.”  Molly stood by the door with a frightened gaze. Fidgeting in her place. Sherlock turned to her and raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

She spoke shyly, “You still have another meeting, Sherlock. The clients are waiting outside.”

“Do I?” He snapped. Startling Molly more than she already was. He did not intend to.

“Sorry.” Sherlock averted his gaze. “Just give me five minutes.”

Molly nodded quickly and walked out. Irene did not look satisfied.

“For once you could break the rules. You sometimes did before. In the beginning. Now you are just too...” she shrugged, unable to find the correct wording.

“Professional? Unbreakable? I will break myself before I break the rules.” Sherlock huffed. Running fingers through his hair. He couldn't make a mistake again.

“It’s always about the Trevor wedding, isn’t it?” Irene’s voice suddenly went soft. As if weighing every word. Sympathetic. The kind of voice Sherlock hated the most. And the topic he dreaded.

“It was not your fault that Victor decided to ditch his groom to run to you at the altar.”

“But I was friendly with him. I led him on.” Sherlock closed his eyes. Two years. The regret never left. It just kept getting bigger with no chance of closure ever.

“You did not.” Irene was shaking her head. “I know you. And I know what you’re capable of.”

“I am not in the mood for having this conversation, Irene.” He suddenly felt tired. So very tired at just the mention of it.

“Okay.” Irene pursed her lips. Eyes tender.

“I will have a cigarette now. You will not protest. After I am done, you will go outside and bring them in. I will try to be polite.”

“Really?” Irene’s eyebrows almost touched her hairline. “Reason to be that generous?”

“I am trying new things. I am changeable.” Sherlock walked out to the balcony. Grabbing the lighter from the desk.

“Bring them inside in five minutes.”

 

****

 

He took the last puff when the couple was already in the room. He straightened his jacket. His posture. His professional face. And walked towards the room expecting another boring couple. Prepared to talk his ear off with all their suggestions and budgets and all the useless things they should not even talk about if they indeed intended to consult him.

Could this day end already? His brain was killing him. And the air and the particles hurt every inch of his skin.

But as soon as he entered the room somewhere a tidal wave crashed, whose noise only he could hear. Somewhere a light bulb brightened up that only made his vision clear and made him see colours no one had ever dreamt of. Somewhere, a secret switch was suddenly turned on making little firecrackers light up together. Because Sherlock realized despite his brain deciding to not work at all, that the man who looked up at him had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. Or ever dared to imagine.

Dr Watson. The appointment schedule said so. Dr John H. Watson. Too ordinary a name for a man like that.

Like what he had no idea. Because you could tell only a little about a man from the ash blond hair and cerulean blue eyes. And rather plain clothings. But distracting. So very distracting. Five shades of colour in his hair. Each one deserved a name.

The man wasn't being very expressive or eager to show off but that didn’t mean Sherlock could not determine the military background from his posture. The way his eyes subtly scanned the room. Like he could see enemies everywhere. Uncomfortable in his own skin. The way he too was inside himself. Smaller than he should be. Trying to fit but also not. Never satisfied.

Sherlock straightened his pens on the desk in an attempt to conceal the trembling of his fingers. Why was there this sudden flow of unnamed thoughts in his head? It was just a man. So ordinary that it would take him five seconds to mix into a crowd. So many people had sat in that chair. So many came just for him. But John Watson looked like it would be better if he could just leave. And suddenly, that was more attractive than anything.

John Watson sat in his chair inches beside his fiancée looking extremely uncomfortable while his fiancée looked too eager. A bit too much. Pretentious?

From the way he subtly leant away from her. From the way she didn’t even glance at him. Sherlock knew.

That the woman, Miss Mary Morstan was more enthusiastic about the theme of the whole wedding than the wedding itself. Pinterest open on her phone. Probably a huge folder in her wardrobe and shoebox full of random clippings and paraphernalia. If Sherlock gave her the opportunity, she would start talking about at least six wedding themes she already had in mind. She didn't care about the groom. Just Like Mia Thompson, who forgot to write her vows because it was just a minor thing. And made a fuss when one magnolia in her wedding bouquet lost a petal.

Rule number zero: Never take any projects which have the potential to break down badly. Any sign of incompatibility between the couple and there should be an alarm going off. Which was happening right then.

The marriage hadn't even happened and from Dr Watson's eyes and Mary Morstan's face, it was child's play. To determine that this marriage was doomed.

But the problem was that the head does not always listen to the heart and the heart does not always agree with what the brain says and the world doesn't always go like it is supposed to. Rules break, anomalies happened, the path of life shifts. So what Sherlock did was the exact opposite of rule zero. Against everything his head asked him to do.

What harm could come from getting a bit carried away?

The man looked uneasy when Sherlock, like a fool, could not look away from him. When he mentioned the military background, the man's eyes glinted. Like a kid getting to listen to someone talking about his favourite toy. And then Mary Morstan spoke, reminding Sherlock that she existed in the room. Sherlock, who was too immersed in the man in the too ordinary shirt and trousers who was not even talking much.

His entire nerve endings screamed. To drop it. To not take the case. Remember what happened when you got involved.

Half of his mind fought because he did not like his work to be tainted. He did not like to be whipped around or have ideas thrown at him which Miss Morstan was entirely capable of. And the other half fought back because it did not want to lose an opportunity to meet this man again.

No. He was certainly not getting involved. No way.

_It’s just curiosity. I am curious._

So he sat through, getting bored by the overly enthusiastic fiancée to just get a glimpse of the calm man beside her.

He didn't miss the subtle flinch in the man when he mentioned the budget. Of course. Army pension. Clinic hours. Seventy percent chance of having a family member who needed money quite often. Money was certainly an issue for Dr Watson. And he was far too proud to ask anyone or to not pay equally.

“You are going to use your entire trust fund for this?” He spoke for the first time. Sounding horrified.

“Why are you surprised, John? I told you I want the wedding to be flawless. So that people remember it.” Mary sounded offended, irritated. Finance had been an issue in the household then.

“What about the ceremony?” Maybe Sherlock heard it wrong but there was the faint sound of teeth gritting. And there was a sudden calmness on John Watson's face. Like the face people made when they knew the answer to a question already.

“That's just a part of the wedding, John. Not the whole of it.” Mary didn't even look at her fiancé's face.

The smile which emerged on John Watson's face was unreadable. Except for the amount of pain in it.

Doomed. Doomed. So very doomed. Why was he even bothering? Forty percent chance that the wedding would not even happen. Why was he not repeating what he did hundreds of times already? Just telling them straight out about how he was unable to take the project. Why was a simple man with a simple appearance playing tricks with his head by just doing nothing? Was Sherlock just emotionally compromised by any chance and the timing was wrong?

Or maybe..

Because saying no came with the price of losing the chance of seeing someone again.

And after both of them had left, he realized that he took the project. Knowing in his bones that he would regret it.

“Where is the smug smile?” Irene asked from behind.

“What smug smile?” He asked back, perfectly knowing what she meant by it.

“Don’t play dumb, Sherlock. It doesn’t suit you. Where is the overly satisfied smug smile of ‘at last I won’t be bored’? Instead you look like you are gonna produce a set of worry lines on your face by tonight.”

“It is in there somewhere.” Sherlock replied, putting on his coat slowly. Ignoring the way Irene was still looking at him. She was one of the few people who could come close to understanding him. Mycroft did it better. Sherlock was glad that Mycroft could not see this face of his. Or he would know. He would know in second what Sherlock saw in the man that made him just forget all the rules.

_Little brother? Do you like broken things so much?_

“Nice man.” Irene talked again. “That doctor fellow. Even I could see how uncomfortable he was just being in this room. Not to mention how he looked during the discussions of the various aspects of the wedding. I presume you did not miss that.”

Irene sounded cautious. And Sherlock knew where she was going. She was not an idiot and had been close to him for a very long time. Smart enough to notice an anomaly. “Then why?” She had walked in front of him. Her eyes demanding an answer.

“Why are you taking this? I have been beside you long enough to know that this is not the type of projects you take. Any personal attachment? Do you know him?” Her eyes roamed around his face.

No I don’t. But I _want to_.

“You really don’t know me well enough.”

“I do, actually. And you are being very weird.”

Sherlock wished with all his heart that she would stop asking already. Wished that he himself knew why he did what he did.

“Goodnight, Irene. See you tomorrow.” He brushed past her and could feel her eyes on his back. Thinking. Trying to understand.

“Goodnight Sherlock.”

Car lights passed before his eyes, the lights never touching him. And the odd but pleasant sensation of buzzing, like someone decided to tune into an unknown radio frequency somewhere in his body, that showed no intention of stopping. Not that Sherlock wanted it to.

“You should get a car you know.” Irene had told him so many times.

“I don’t need it. You have one. Where am I supposed to keep it anyway?” Is what Sherlock always replied.

 

****

 

“Do you want some dinner, dear? Yorkshire pudding? Also I made truffles. You are home early.”

The ever concerned Mrs Hudson came out of her kitchen brushing her apron. Smiling bright as always and not really stopping to pause in her speech.

“No thank you, Mrs Hudson. Not really hungry.” Sherlock replied, putting his coat on the hook.

“In that case I will send you a meal anyway because I am sure you haven’t eaten anything like always and if you want to be alive and not be a human bamboo, I suggest you eat it.”

She turned on her heel and went back to her kitchen. And when Sherlock came back to the drawing room after a shower he found dinner waiting. Mrs Hudson never listened. Sometimes he managed to eat something but today, nothing would pass his throat.

 

****

 

After changing and getting into bed after the sleeplessness of two days, Sherlock realized he was feeling too relaxed, where he should have felt exhausted. He sat on the bedside for some time and at last decided that this night deserved music. For nothing. Or for himself.

When the sonata ended, his surroundings had become quieter. Only the moon tirelessly listening to him playing. His heart gave a little flutter of fear for no reason.

“Tell me what this means. I am confused.”

No one replied in the near-silence. Only the night wind fluttered against the windows. Clueless, just like the man standing behind the curtains with a violin. Looking like a lost soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments in the previous chapter guys. All of those mean a lot. And thank you for all the subscriptions. Makes me glad to think that so many people are eager to read the story. I hope you like this chapter. And I will be waiting for your comments. Lots of love <3


	3. The more I suffer

 

> **_There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out_ **   
>  **_but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes_ **   
>  **_when everybody's asleep._ **   
>  **_I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad._ **   
>  **_then I put him back,_ **   
>  **_but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die_ **   
>  **_and we sleep together like that_ **   
>  **_with our secret pact_ **   
>  **_and it's nice enough to make a man weep,_ **   
>  **_but I don't weep,_ **   
>  **_do you?_ **
> 
> **_-Charles Bukoswki_ **

 

 

 

“You could not look more bored even if you tried!” Mary threw her bag quite noisily on the bed, making John flinch in surprise. Although he expected the conversation to happen. Because, there was always a conversation.

“What did I do this time?” John said slowly, removing his socks as he sat by the corner of the bed, wishing for powers to stop the forthcoming argument. It would be ugly. He knew that much. And his aching leg wasn’t really helping with being calm. He might need to visit Ella earlier than he thought. Before everything falls out of control.

Like anything was actually in control of him. 

But that was a thought to indulge on later.

“Don’t play dumb, John. It’s not convincing. Trust me.” Mary stood in front of him. Towering. Her eyes so impaling as if trying to put a hole through John’s skull.

“You will always be like this in front of everyone! Was it really necessary to question the use of my trust fund on the wedding in front of the consultant who is actually going to arrange our wedding? How well that looked?”

“I...” John actually didn’t know what to say. Because Mary was absolutely right. Yes, he would never be out of that mentality. Money would always be a sensitive matter to him, no matter what. And at that age, it had no chance to change anymore. Some things are hardwired.

“Sometimes I do wonder how much you are willing to marry me.” Mary said tilting her head sideways. Her usually lovely face looked void of any emotions. That face always made John feel empty inside.

“Don’t throw that in my face, Mary.” John replied through gritted teeth. Looking at the floor in front of him. The truth hurt. It stung more than the stings of a thousand wasps. Mary never genuinely asked. John never asked himself. And now the answer really did not matter.

“Try to behave more sociable in the next meeting.” Mary turned around. “Not everyone is tolerant enough like me. No one usually likes the stiff war veteran thing you always do out there. It has been years, John. I don’t even see why you still even need a therapist.”

John sat there letting the words flow past him. It was not the first time of Mary complaining about his behaviour. It wouldn’t be the last time. She had issues with him keeping a therapist after all these years. Waste of money and time and not really helping him, was it?  _ Why do you even bother going, John? You are still miserable. And it’s not really changing. _

Only if John could be normal. He wished. He wished so much.

"God I am being such a bitch." Mary said suddenly. Her tone at the extreme opposite of what she had just a few seconds ago.

John looked up to find Mary looking at him. This time her face softened. And she looked apologetic. "I am so sorry darling." Mary walked forward and took John's face in her hands. "The stress from the jobs and the wedding ugh. This is taking a toll on us isn't it?" Her fingers shuffled John's hair. 

It took John a few seconds to process the sudden change of mood.

She was really sorry wasn't she? Of course she was. He should be too. Because that’s what couples do don’t they? They fight. They apologize. 

John sighed in the touch.

"Yes. Everything is stressful. I am doing no better than you. " John said taking a deep breath. " I am sorry." He closed his eyes.

"Hey look at me." Mary tapped her finger on John's cheek. Making John look at her face. "Let's have a nice dinner at home huh?"

"Yes. That will be good. I can cook." John smiled. Everything was good. His heart rate normalized. 

Of course he loved Mary. And Mary loved him back. What else it could be?

"Yes you can." Mary giggled. "I can find some of those scented candles I bought what do you say? Very romantic." 

At that John couldn't help but smile more in relief. And when Mary trotted out of the room to find those candles, it felt like everything was better. Nothing was ever wrong.

How could anything be wrong. This was the life he always wanted.

 

****

 

A hand from his back came over his mouth. And one hand over his eyes. A scream burst through the dark silence. 

“Watson! Look at me! Don’t you dare fall asleep. Do you hear me?”

Gunpowder and blood. A weird and heady mix. Sounds deafening him. Smoke not letting him breathe. It was better than the drugs he tried in school for fun. Better than anything else. Liquid tar seeping into his lungs. If they cut him open, there would be tar everywhere. A searing pain went through him. Not sure where. His leg? Might be his shoulder. Or maybe his eyes. Blood trickled down from everywhere. The tangy taste of copper inside his mouth. In his nose.

“Watson, for God’s sake, stay with me!” 

Who was talking? Sounded like Andy. Didn’t he die? He was floating in the darkness and could feel nothing. Maybe he had his limbs. Maybe he didn't. It was lost in the calculations of how much lorazepam was needed to knock him down.

And then a bony hand turned him around. Fingers gripping him so tight that it hurt. His muscles protesting at the pressure. His feet touching nothing. He should tell the stranger to loosen his grip. But his throat was made of sandpaper. Trying will not help at all. But the stranger was the only thing keeping him afloat.

“You are not okay are you?” The stranger asked in a booming voice. “You feel out of place and nothing helps. How does it end?”

_ Stay with me. Stay with me. _ He wants to say but nothing comes out.

“Tell me, how does it end?” The stranger asks again. His icy blue eyes glowed in the blinding darkness. Fingers tearing through his skin.

And then the searing pain came back again. Like someone was trying to take away his soul out of his body through a bullet hole. It hurt. It hurt like the end of the world. It felt like dying. He might have died. More than once.

 

John woke up drenched in his own sweat. The duvet thrown away and one hand gripping the bed sheet so tight that his fingers might have stopped receiving blood. And a headache was trying to tear his head apart.

“See. I said. It’s not helping at all. Or you would be trying to make it better.”

Mary sounded disgusted and irritated and John could not blame her. If she wasn't there for him, he did not have anywhere left to go or anyone to be with and that was the true nightmare. Loneliness was very frightening. He might end up killing himself.

It's not intentional you know? I don't make nightmares appear just by wishing. They are not really fun.” John murmured collecting his pillow.

Mary raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going ?”

“I should go sleep in the guest room. You still need to sleep. And I am proving to be quite a disturbance.” John replied.

“Will you be alright?”Mary almost sounded concerned.

Almost.

“Yes.” John replied rubbing his hand over his eyes. The memory of the dream still to vivid.

“Try to have a good sleep, John. Will benefit you and everyone else because God knows how cranky you can be while sleep deprived.”

“Goodnight.” John stood in the middle of the room for a second then turned towards the door.

The bed in the guest room was as it always should be. Lonely. Cold. Like John felt most of the time. But after the nightmares, like a fool he always wanted that to change. He wanted a hand to soothe him. Hold him close so he could feel safe. She always did the opposite. She would just be more distant than she already was before.

No, John could not blame her. She was generous enough. Tolerant enough to not leave him yet. And John was not a child nor could he demand comfort.

Beggars can't be choosers. John Watson had been a beggar for most of his life.

 

****

 

“Five months since your last appointment, John.” Ella’s voice had always been soothing. 

“Five months and a week to be exact.” 

A sigh sounded too loud in the room.

“Counting days now. I see. Do you know who else count days, John?” She tapped her fingers on the notebook.

“Prisoners. Hostages. The ones that hope to get out someday.” John looked at the beige walls of the room. 

“Are you a prisoner, John?”

“I don't know the answer to that question.” 

John felt Ella looking at him for some quiet moments and then scribbling on her notebook.

John could read upside down. She wrote ‘deflection’.

“Anything new in your life?”

“I am getting married to my fiancée.” John clenched his fist. And released instantly as soon he realized it. But Ella already noticed. 

“How are you feeling about that, John?”

That was the first time someone asked the right question. And John had no answer for it. Was he happy? No. 

Was he sad.? No.

Was he even feeling anything? Because just existing never equalled feeling. He just existed.

“I… don’t know.”

Ella’s eyes were sad. “How is work?”

“Stressful.”

“And the journal?”

“Still empty.”

“You need to write everything down, John. However tiny that thing may be. How you are  feeling. Little happy moments. Whatever happens to you.”

Perhaps it sounded like a struggle to stifle a sob. But John couldn’t care less. His throat felt like closing to tell the truth. Because it was just the reflection of how pathetic his life was.

“Nothing happens to me.” 

In the empty room, it did sound like a sob.

 

****

 

“Miss Morstan. If you think that you are able to do your wedding by yourself, why did you even bother to come to me and on top of that agree to do this second meeting?”

Mary was glaring at Sherlock Holmes with an intensity that if looks could kill, he would be dead.

And the look Sherlock Holmes was giving Mary was more lethal than that.

John decided to just sink in his seat and let it pass by him.

Mary shook her hand containing the thick folder she retrieved that morning from God knows where. It had everything in it. And from the looks of it, it was quite old.

“What. Is. That?” John had pointed at the open page on the bed which looked like a scrapbook of different gossamer fabrics. White, ivory, cream. Looked like the ones from bridal gowns.

“That is my wedding folder. I’ve had it since I was, I don’t know. In college?” Mary had replied ignorantly, going through her wardrobe.

“Like a scrapbook? That’s...” John wanted to say immature or childish or other things that Mary would actually not like. So decided to stop at the last moment.

“I seriously hope you do not dare to say that last word, John. And even if you do. I really do not care about your opinions. If you have any. Which I doubt you do.”

“No. I don’t really.” John had replied and didn't say anything else about the folder.

Now Mary was very stubbornly pointing at something in her folder and Sherlock Holmes was making a disgruntled noise.

“If you really want to go with the minimal theme then why are you shoving the yellow colour in my face? It does not go at all with the whole colour scheme I just showed you, Miss Morstan. Are you colourblind by any chance?” His words were part venom, part pure fire.

“You don’t have to go all strict. I am sure you can squeeze some things in. Contrast can work.” Was Mary pleading?

Squeeze some things in? This man? John had met him twice and was already sure that he would have a fight with Satan if Satan had called lilac purple.

"John, say something. It's your wedding too!" Mary turned to John. Yes, definitely pleading. Rare scene it was.

“Doesn't feel like it.” John murmured under his breath. 

Not like Mary was entirely kind to him. She actually decided that it would be a good idea to discuss the smallness of the diamond in her engagement ring in front of a stranger. Mortifying. John wanted the earth to crack open and devour him. He had asked her numerous times if she wanted a new ring, he could do it. Sacrificing a fixed deposit was better than being insulted about his financial condition in front of a man who was going to stick around them for quite some time. And on top of that, he was a fairly famous man. John wanted to vanish. Just poof from the face of the earth.

"What do you want me to say?" John scrunched his nose.

"At least backup my opinion. The flowers, John!"

"Yes, yes agree to her atrocious ideas and flowers and decorations that do not even go with the colour palette we agreed on. And are actually a monstrosity." Sherlock Holmes snorted audibly and then rolled his eyes. Which looked oddly attractive. And John noticed how his shirt matched his pale eyes. The bony face should not have been so aesthetically pleasing. But it was. As well as giving off the sensation of looking at fire. Beautiful to look at, leaves an impression in your cornea. Dangerous to touch.

Maybe the stress was making John to go crazy at last. "I have not even said anything yet." John tried to say calmly. But it came out a bit shrill.

"I don't have high hopes about what will come out of your mouth, actually." Mary chimed in, supposedly forgetting about the fact that a minute ago she was pleading.

"Well I do agree with her on that case, Dr Watson. You are not really an expert on the aesthetic qualities of things around you." A pair of ice blue eyes were looking fully at him. Mocking, maybe. 

“You think so?” John sat straight in the chair.

“Yes. Of course.” The man shrugged. ‘Why? Do you think otherwise?” 

“I don't know.”

“Tell me what type of Peruvian Lilies you prefer then?” Sherlock Holmes raised his eyebrows and steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Like getting ready to see something amusing.

“Flowers are flowers..” John mumbled. “Peruvian is already a subgroup. Why do I need another subgroup? Any will do.” John clenched his hand. No he wasn't angry. But not really calm either.

“But what do you mean ‘any will do’? I don’t quite understand, they’re all thoroughly different from each other.” Sherlock Holmes had a very calm voice.

And John decided he had had enough. So the next thing he did was stand up straight and point a finger at the ridiculous man in front of him. Whose shirt looked like it came out of the store just an hour ago. And John had been wearing his for two years. How would this man know the worth of money? How would he know that his mind was not even focused on this wedding? How the hell would he know what John was or wanted?

“Listen here cheekbones, I don’t give a monkey’s if she walks down the aisle with a bouquet of portuguese artichokes alright, I’m bloody knackered, I just want to...I don't know…”

He realized after the initial wave of anger had passed that he had called the man a name which was not exactly formal nor very polite. And that too in a very non polite voice. Which was uncivilized of him despite how irritating the man was being. And he used to take pride in the fact that in the army he was level headed.

But the thing was the man did not look insulted at all. If anything Sherlock Holmes looked like something else. A faint glint in his eyes and his lip quirked up in a ghostly smile.

But then his usual face was back and John wasn't sure if he saw it right.

"Well then, Dr Watson. You should have done exactly that. Why are you even here?" There was an edge to that voice. Professional. Cold. John wasn't sure what he was actually expecting or why.

"Please don't mind John's words. He has the fashion sense of a farmer. He is here only because it’s his wedding and he is the groom. And I dragged him to this meeting."

"I can't do that. But I can distinguish fairly between essential things and total wastes." John bit his bottom lip in defiancé.

"What do you mean by waste, Dr Watson? Do you think I am charging you more than necessary?”

"I just think you are being a bit too impossible and stubborn."

“And presumptions.” He added with a pause. Not sure exactly why. It was just what always happened when he was angry. Words came out from the depths of his mind, not even in a well fashioned manner.

Steel blue eyes measured him for some quiet moments.

“Presumptuous, you say.” The man sat straight with fingers under his chin. “The man with a psychosomatic limp induced by stress." A faint smile appeared on the pale face.

"Did you tell him?” John's head snapped towards Mary who just slowly shook her head. “Did you stalk me? How could you know about it being psychosomatic exactly?” John faintly realized that he was screaming but also he didn't care.

“Get out, Dr Watson.” The voice resembled ice cold steel with an extremely sharp edge which cut through the air in front of him. “Get out and wait in the lounge before I actually say something harsher or you say something that you will regret.” The voice slowly said.

John did not utter another word and just marched out the door. His leg was killing him.

 

****

 

“You are lucky, you know. You are bloody lucky that he is still doing our wedding after the peasant like behavior you showed him.” Mary hissed.

“Me? I was behaving absurdly? What about him? I felt violated.”

“Did you not read about him  before? He just knows people's personal history by just looking at them. He is that good of an observer.” Mary scowled “My God, John! You can be such a daft idiot when you want to be.”

“Can we be done with this conversation? I feel a headache coming.” John closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. Trying to forget everything around him despite how impossible that would be.

“You always feel a headache coming when I talk about anything, don't you? Especially when it’s about the messes you make.” John was sure he could hear Mary grinding her teeth. And waited for a bigger blow of words to come.

“Take the couch or the guest room.” She stormed out of the room. Perhaps his prayers were answered as the usual verbal onslaught of insults did not arrive..  

Head hung, shoulders slouched in defeat, John could not exactly decide why he deserved all of it. Everything that had happened in his life so far. Nothing seemed fair. This pallid life. This living. Everything crumbled under his touch. And everywhere he looked, the colour seemed to be drained off.

To Kill a Mockingbird provided a good sleeptime read but soon the sentences started to make no sense and the words blurred and it started to become clear that it would be called a night. So John put the book aside and bent sideways to turn off the lamp. As soon as he went back to his sitting position, his phone chimed. Like a reflex action John's eyes first went to the red digits of the alarm clock.

Past midnight. Harry usually called when she was drunk. She never texted. It was hard to find the usual dextrosity of hands when you were drunk up to your eyeballs. 

So with a furrowed brow, John took his phone from the nightstand and opened it to reveal a text message from an unknown number.

**I thought about this the whole day and have come to the conclusion that my recent behavior has been a bit not good. You seem like a gentleman, so I am hopeful that you will be able to overcome my behavior if I apologize. Sorry. I shouldn't have told you to get out of the room today. -SH**

John just looked at the text for a long time. Not sure of why and what to do. And before the initial state of being purely dumbfounded could pass, a second message arrived.

**You must be asleep. -SH**

As he got almost ready to reply with an answer another text followed.

**Probably not. -SH**

John realized he was holding his breath and it was affecting his head. It was spinning. His surroundings felt a bit unreal. Because it couldn’t be who he thought it was. That arrogant prick couldn’t apologize to him. Why would he? What could he benefit from it? He did not need to please John.

So although being sure of who the mysterious texter might be, he asked a stupid question.

**Who is this?**

It didn’t take long for a reply to come. And John could feel the eyeroll the man must have done writing it down.

**You can't be serious. -SH**

**Or maybe still angry -SH**

**I am very sorry. How many more times do I have to say it? -SH**

**Do you know the time Mr. Holmes?**

**Yes I do know it. -SH**

**This is not the time people usually text people to apologize. People with professional relationships.**

John’s thumb hovered over the send button before finally pressing it. The reply was immediate as before.

**But I knew that you are sleeping alone and still awake and I needed to apologize as soon as possible. -SH**

John sighed typing the reply.

**That’s a bit creepy. How can you possibly know that?**

He realized he did not want to sleep anymore. Maybe not until the next hundred years. There was a sudden rush of adrenaline for no reason.

John tapped his fingers impatiently on the screen waiting for the reply.

**Knowing is how I live, Dr Watson. I knew about your psychosomatic limp through your sitting habit. I know that you are sleeping alone because you were bound to have a domestic with your fiancée after all the drama in my office earlier. -SH**

The feeling that ran through John’s spine could be categorized as a shiver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually posting faster than I promised. :D And thank you so much for all the encouragements. I live for them.


	4. The more I love

 

 

 

> **_You’re like a song that I heard when I was a little kid_ **  
>  **_but forgot I knew until I heard it again._ **
> 
> **_-Maggie Stiefvater , **Lament: The Faerie Queen's Deception**_ **

 

 

Mary Morstan belonged to the category of brides for whom a wedding had been a lifelong dream. With a Pinterest profile, a Hitched account, and the strong idea that they knew better than the people who actually dealt with the specifics and excelled in this area. It had always pissed Sherlock off. He had seen too many people like that in his career and the quality of these kind of people gradually got worse. Some grooms fell in the category sometimes. And unsurprisingly, the mothers as well.

Or maybe that was not what primarily pissed Sherlock off. Maybe it was how she talked to her fiancé. It was always an indication of the relationship. And those things were unmistakable. Maybe other people would miss those. But Sherlock Holmes never missed. This was his life. These were the standards by which he always weighed people.

The subtle quirks in the mouth, the body language, how the man got defensive with passing time. How he looked mortified at the topic of finance. Sherlock couldn’t really imagine that she would tactfully drag him over the smallness of the diamond on the ring. But she did. In front of a stranger.

“Huh, it’s not like you really gave much thought on the engagement ring, did you John? What did you ask the shop? Bring the smallest one you’ve got?”

She was laughing as if it was just a joke. Maybe it was her brand of humour or maybe she was just being cruel (which may be unreal). But the way John Watson’s face crumbled, the words were invisible slaps. Even Sherlock could feel the intensity of them. God knows how the man to whom the words were directed felt.

“I… um.” John Watson had nervously licked his lips and glanced at Sherlock and then at his fiancée a couple of times clearly trying to signal Mary to stop. But she didn’t. What she did was she continued the sugar coated venomous speech until she felt satisfied. By then John Watson was just a shadow of a man in the chair. Looking small and alone.

Sherlock had tried to think multiple times exactly why he was still doing this. This was not what he did. John Watson and Mary Morstan were not the couple he would choose even on his bad days. But the the man with soft hair and crouched shoulders had looked at him with a mortified glance and Sherlock knew, he again became sure of the why.

“You are saying this yellow is entirely unusable for the theme. Even the flowers? You are being too stubborn, Mr Holmes.”

The open page of the book with the vibrant colours was enough to give him a headache. He did not like Mary Morstan. And nothing was helping him to forget the fact at all.

His head was replaying one question over and over. Why couldn't John Watson just protest? Just walk out of the relationship which was clearly doing him no good?

And then the answer hit him. Oh yes, of course there was reason. Dr Watson was one of those people who was unsure of the future outside their so called comfort zone. Yes, the woman was doing him no good. Maybe she once did. But not anymore. But John Watson simply didn’t know how to live without that.

That wasn’t really Sherlock’s concern was it?

Then why exactly did he even take the project?

He wasn’t sure at what he became so angry at. His decision to take the project. Or how the man sitting in front of him wasn’t doing something to help himself.

And the fact that Sherlock was human made its presence known. Through an outburst at the wrong person. The irritation over Mary Morstan and himself came out at John Watson. Sherlock wanted to slap himself when a red faced John stormed out of the room.

That was a tad too much. Not by Sherlock’s standard. But in this case. A lot. This was not what he thought of doing to John Watson. But there was one feature of interest in the whole scenario. The soldier was still in there somewhere. How delightful.

“I am sorry for the behavior of my fiancé. I can never bring him out of this weird mentality he has. Weddings only happen once. This simple thing is so hard for him to understand.” Mary Morstan looked more disgusted than embarrassed or concerned.

Small talk was the last thing Sherlock wanted. And with the growing guilty feeling in his chest it seemed like even breathing was going to be a problem.

He took a deep breath to momentarily forget the things that happened in the room in the last couple of minutes. He needed to claim his ground.

“We are going to settle on my terms for the colours, Miss Morstan. And the other things too. Do you agree?” Perhaps Mary wanted to discuss further about her fiancé. Sherlock didn’t.

“Um… But.” Mary hesitated.

The nerve. If Sherlock had met her in different circumstances he may have liked her behaviour, perhaps even going as far as admitting her passion was quite admirable.

But she would agree. She would. This wedding theme and the decorations and the flowers and everything else was important to her. Way more important than her fiancé. It was written right on her face. In her thick wedding folder and creases of her eyes. What would she say if Sherlock asked her if she loved her fiancé or not?

Well that was none of Sherlock’s business. Neither was the slight twitch in John Watson's leg again as he left the room. Psychosomatic limp. War veteran. Does he have a therapist? He must have. Dark circles under eyes. Worry lines everywhere. Must be nightmares. Lots of them. Would he tell Sherlock if Sherlock asked him?

“If you say no, then I am not the man you want for this, Miss Morstan.”

Mary Morstan bit her lip and Sherlock could feel the calculations going on in her head. Thinking about what she should put first. The long growing fantasy of a wedding just like she wanted or the touch of someone who knew what he was doing.

It didn't take a genius to say who would win. Mary was not daft.

“Okay.” She mumbled. But the stern jaw said she was not going to be as malleable as Sherlock wanted her to be. But for now, this could work.

“Our meeting time is up. My assistant will set up a date for your next meeting and inform you. Good afternoon.” Maybe the way he just stood up and walked out to the balcony seemed a bit rude but he didn't care. He had been much more rude before. This was nothing. And changed nothing at all.

“Do you want to go to the locations of the Evans or should I just go alone?” It had been an estimated time since he had walked out onto the balcony and the cigarette was still in his hand. Never touching his lips and only a quarter of it left to turn into ash.

“Hmm?” The query came out involuntarily.

“What's up with you?” Irene walked closer and put her palm up unceremoniously on Sherlock’s forehead, brows furrowed. “You are not running a fever. Then what is it?”

“Stop doing that!” Sherlock turned his head. “I don't have a fever. Why would I? Do I look unwell?”

“Well you look cranky.” Irene twisted her lips. “And you shouted at one of your clients today who really didn't deserve all that wrath.” Her voice came down an octave. “Are you sure that you wanna do this project?”

“Why wouldn't I?” Sherlock's eyes went still.

“Well,” Irene tilted her head. “it seems like you start acting strangely every time this couple walks in. You don't lose your patience easily because you never take any cases where there is a chance for you to lose your patience. Then what is it? What’s bothering you?”

“I don't know.” Sherlock lied.

“You know. But you are too stubborn to tell me. It's fine.” Irene patted his hand gently. “A hint of fresh air will do you good. Get your coat and hop in my car. We are going to the locations.”

 

****

 

It actually helped. The fresh air. It was a bit colder than Sherlock would like. But it was not really appalling.

“This one and the hall are the only available ones on that date. We have never done this one. But I have a feeling that Mr Evans and Miss Clarke are gonna like this.” Irene was walking around the halthe noise of her heels echoing in the empty ballroom.

She was saying something else as well. But Sherlock stopped paying attention. There was a couple of birds arguing on the maple tree outside. It was not distracting. But it made him remember that there was still that nagging feeling of guilt in his chest.

“I guess the fresh air didn't work. Are you even listening to me?” Irene hit him lightly with the clipboard in her hand.

“No. Actually. My mind is preoccupied. It's very uncomfortable.” Sherlock twisted his face.

“You can keep watering that feeling or can just share, you know. Unless you are having erectile dysfunction. That is not my thing. I don't deal in penises.” She was clearly concealing her laughter.

“You are useless.” Sherlock attempted to walk in the other direction while she actually started giggling.

“I am sorry, darling. I promise I won't try another joke. I swear.” She said with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, so. Um...” Sherlock knew in his whole life he had never looked this hesitant towards anything. So he took a deep breath. Preparing for the worst. That Irene might laugh again. But she was also the only one who wouldn't judge. So he continued anyway.

“I am gonna talk to a client outside a scheduled meeting without sounding unprofessional. I need to apologize.”

“Sherlock.” Irene licked her lips. “Who do you need to apologize to?” Her posture suddenly became defensive.

“That doesn't matter. Why does it matter?”

“Last time you had a conversation with someone like that, it ended up in disaster.” Irene tilted her head in a challenging manner.

“You said I didn't lead him on.”

“You didn't. But you also didn't realize how the couple was not compatible. That was a dark patch in your reputation. And I worked up to my eyeballs to rectify that.” She pointed a finger. “Now you, Sherlock Holmes, are going to be careful. Because it's not you who is the problem. It's the people who find you in your circle. Because you don't see the besotted look on their faces. But I can see it. And I get scared every time I see it.”

“You are talking nonsense.” Sherlock snorted.

“Do whatever you want, really. You are not a child.” Irene turned back and walked away from the hall. Her heels making a more pronounced echoing sound on the floor boards aided by her annoyance.

The wind rustled the leaves outside. Sherlock waited for a few minutes and walked out the same way.

 

****

 

His hands were shaking and that was the primary concern. Because they should not shake. Because they should not at all. It was a courtesy texting. It was just telling him, Dr Watson, I am terribly sorry for my misbehaviour earlier today. It was extremely ill mannered of me to tell you to go out like that.

Of course he was not a child. He could be professional. He was professional. And a man would not ruin that. Not anymore.

####

**_Sorry Mr Trevor, usually my assistant does these kind of things but she is sick. This is Sherlock Holmes. The next meeting is rescheduled. It’s on next Thursday. -SH_ **

 

**_Hi! Call me Victor. And this is quite an odd time to message people, isn’t it Sherlock? I am going to call you Sherlock. Any problem with that?_ **

 

**_Oh yes, I am insomniac. Unfortunately. Sorry if I disturbed you. And no absolutely no problem. -SH_ **

 

**_Not at all. I am alone in my house anyway. And dying to talk to someone, trust me._ **

**####**

**_I have two tickets to Hamlet this Sunday. My fiancé isn't very enthusiastic about these things. I thought you might be interested. Wanna accompany me?_ **

 

**_I might have work.-SH_ **

 

**_Come on. It’s Sunday._ **

 

**_Will this be appropriate?-SH_ **

 

**_What? Hanging out? What’s inappropriate about it?_ **

 

**_Alright then.-SH_ **

 

**_Wonderful._ **

####

**_Do you wanna come over? I am bored to death and Paul is still stuck at Lisbon and I will go mad if I am alone for two more days._ **

 

**_I hear nightclubs and pubs are excellent places to cure boredom. You should try those. -SH_ **

 

**_Do you want to go to a pub?_ **

 

**_No.-SH_ **

 

**_Then please come to my house and have a drink with me. Pretty please?_ **

 

**_Okay. Give me twenty minutes.-SH_ **

####

**_Will you accept my apology?_ **

 

**_If you are sincere.-SH_ **

 

**_My tolerance for alcohol is not really good. Sorry that I tried to kiss you. It was not about you really. I hope you understand. I am really sorry._ **

 

**_It’s alright.-SH_ **

 

**_So everything is good between us?_ **

 

**_Yes. As it is supposed to be. -SH_ **

####

**_No Victor, please don’t say things like that. This is not really ok. -SH_ **

 

**_Why not? I am only telling the truth. Do you think I am still in this wedding for him? It’s for you. Why do you think I keep changing the wedding date?_ **

 

**_Sorry please I can’t do this. I am not the man you think I am, or the one you want me to be. I won’t jeopardize your marriage. I am not going to be part of your wedding planning anymore. Most of it is already done. I am sure Irene can see to the rest. Paul is a wonderful man and I am not a homewrecker. -SH_ **

 

**_No you are not. You are just a coward._ **

 

**_Goodnight Mr Trevor. -SH_ **

####

**_Sherlock I have just one thing to say._ **

 

**_I don't. You shouldn’t be texting me. -SH_ **

 

**_Please be there at my wedding. I can ask you that at least. As a friend._ **

**_Please Sherlock._ **

**_Just be there. That's all I am asking you. It will make me happy._ **

 

**_Okay I will be there. -SH_ **

####

**_I think you are going to make headlines, brother mine. I need to talk to you. Call me back when you are feeling like having a conversation._ **

 

**_Sherlock pick up the bloody phone or just let me in. I did not drive you away from all of them so just you can do something reckless on your own. I will break this door if I need._ **

 

**_Sherlock please at least let me in? I know you need to talk to someone love. And you know I can never blame you. Greg is furious here. And I left Molly at the venue to control things. And you know how disastrous that can be._ **

 

**_Victor. Why? -SH_ **

_[This number does not exist.]_

####

He realized he was clenching his fist too tightly. His nails dipping into the skin.

No, it was not going to be like Victor. It was just an apology. It was nothing like that. It was not like anything.

**I thought about this the whole day and have come to the conclusion that my recent behavior has been a bit not good. But you seem like a gentleman. I am hopeful that you will be able to overcome my behavior if I apologize. Sorry. I shouldn't have told you to get out of the room today. -SH**

And it’s almost midnight. There was a chance that he was just waking him up with text alerts.

**You must be asleep. -SH**

No, wait. Eye bags. Impression of reading glasses. Busy days usually spent at the clinic. Not tech savvy.

He reads. Of course he reads. And they had an argument. Miss Morstan is probably not talking to him.

**Probably not -SH**

The reply took an awfully long time to come.

**Who is this?**

Sherlock looked at his phone blinking. Of course John couldn’t be that slow. How many people have told him to get out of the room rudely?

**You can't be serious. -SH**

Or maybe he was just being angry.

**Or maybe still angry -SH**

He would have to make himself clear, wouldn’t he? The genuineness in the apology.

**I am very sorry. How many more times do I have to say it? -SH**

The reply took some time to arrive. Maybe he typed slow. Or was too dumbfounded. Probably both.

**Do you know the time Mr Holmes?**

Ah, that's why.

**Yes I do know it. -SH**

 

**This is not the time people usually text people to apologize. People with professional relationships.**

 

**Well you are sleeping alone and I needed to apologize as soon as possible. -SH**

As expected, the next text took a considerable amount of time to come.

**That’s a bit creepy. How can you possibly know that?**

Sherlock chuckled in the darkness of his living room. Ah yes, like everyone. Getting baffled by the simple truths they unknowingly pour everywhere. He knew what usually came after this. But that never had stopped Sherlock Holmes.

**Knowing is how I live Dr Watson. I knew about your psychosomatic limp in your sitting habit. I know that you are sleeping alone because you were bound to have a domestic with your fiancée after all the drama in my office earlier. -SH**

 

**This is impossible.**

 

**No Dr Watson. I don't know if you will believe me, but it is as simple as I could read your military career in your posture. This is how I see. -SH**

 

**Brilliant.**

That took some time to digest. And Sherlock had to blink several times to make sure that what he was seeing was not just in his head.

**What? -SH**

 

**I said brilliant. I actually yelled in the room.**

 

**That's not what people usually say. -SH**

 

**What do they usually say then?**

 

**“Piss off” -SH**

 

**You are a funny man, Mr Holmes. And unusual.**

Sherlock scoffed.

**No one calls me funny, trust me. -SH**

 

**I know that. No one does.**

Sherlock sat straight up on the couch.

**Do you now? -SH**

 

**Of course I don't have extraordinary deduction powers like you do. So I did the easiest thing. I looked you up on the internet.**

Looking himself up in the internet was a thing Sherlock usually was scared about. Because in some gossip-y corner of the interweb, there was still the tale of entrepreneur Victor Trevor and his infamous botched wedding. And how Sherlock Holmes had a part in it. People wouldn’t usually stumble on those until they looked harder. He was mostly sure that John didn’t see those. Still. His heart fluttered a little while asking.

**And? -SH**

 

**Well under all the glamorous columns, and besides your perfect website, there are loads of articles dedicated to the fact that when it comes to common human decency, you tend to be an arsehole.**

 

**Yes I am quite known for that actually, Dr Watson. I am not a very well behaved man most of the time. -SH**

 

**I think you are civil enough. Just a tad too passionate.**

 

**I told you to get out of the room Dr Watson. That's hardly civil. - SH**

 

**I wasn't being particularly tolerable today, was I? I dismissed your suggestions and acted very much not like an adult. Your outburst was not really a fault of just your own.**

 

**Or yours either. -SH**

**I am sorry if my fianceé is being a bit pushy, Mr Holmes. I am sure you meet brides like her all the time. She is enthusiastic, that's all. This wedding is a lifelong dream of hers.**

 

**It's okay really.  -SH**

Sherlock gulped.

**Yes. I mean as far as I know, you tend to take selected clients only. So if you took us, that means you of course took the probabilities too.**

_No I took this for you. Yes you. And if you ask me why you are suddenly more important than my reputation or my work habit, I am afraid I will not be able to give you an answer. I am a bit lost myself._

That's not what Sherlock wrote. But he wished he could.

**Yes of course. -SH**

**Is the apology accepted? -SH**

 

**Of course. No doubt there.**

Sherlock felt like if he did not end the conversation right there. He would die. Or deceased than he already was just from a text exchange. So in spite of protest from one part in his brain, he typed back.

**Goodnight Dr. Watson. See you at the next meeting. -SH**

 

**Night then Mr. Holmes.**

When he put the phone down he realized his feet had gone numb. And his throat was drier than sand paper.

This was nothing. He told himself while walking back to his room.

It was nothing. He was beyond the age of having stupid crushes or infatuations. And he was not the type who seeked for men who were already in relationship. Unethical. He told himself while pulling the duvet up to his chin.

It was just because he doesn't get to talk to many people who he actually liked, he assured himself turning to face the door. Curling into a ball for warmth.

It was nothing. It was just his brain being unable to process emotions. He told himself for the next three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally according to the schedule, I should have posted this yesterday. But as everyone was busy celebrating, I thought it would be better to post today. Will be waiting for your comments. Hope you had a lovely Christmas. <3


	5. Danger will only increase my love

 

> **_...and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one._ **

 

 

The phone didn’t chime for the next three days. Not that John wished it to. Not at all. If anyone asked John about it, he would deny it.

No, he didn’t check his phone every hour. Even in the middle of the night while waking up for a piss. He most certainly did not.

The morning after the texting, John found himself looking in the bathroom mirror for an exceedingly long time with a dry toothbrush in hand. And an unknown feeling in his stomach. He didn’t dare to look in the mirror again. It was easy to see the feelings in his own eyes. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted anything. This wasn’t the time or place.

“He is such a brat!” Mary threw her hands in the air and dropped her phone on the couch. Proceeding to close the laptop with a thud.

“Who?” John asked in a low voice, pouring himself a cup of tea. Cautious because last night’s fight was not resolved. Not that he minded about it anyway. It was regular. He had grown to be quite accustomed to it. But better being safe than to be shouted at again.

“Sherlock Holmes. Who else?” Mary stood up and walked towards the bedroom door. John followed slowly.

“Why? What did he do? Did he cancel the meeting?” John realized he was shaking at the mention of that name. Not the tremor in his hand that appeared when he was stressed. It was a buzzing. Like a constant electric pulsing.

“No. He isn’t picking up my phone calls.” Mary replied. Pulling out a pair of trousers from the wardrobe.

“Why did you call him?”

“I mailed him some ideas about the decor.”

“Why? I mean he made it pretty clear that he will not like any interventions with his planning.”

“Everyone says that, John. You are not meant to exactly follow it.” Mary’s expression indicated that John was just being an obnoxious fool.

“But I don't think he is that type of person who will tolerate it if you keep thrashing your ideas on him.” John said slowly. Not looking at his raging fiancée.

“Why do you suddenly care, John?” Mary turned around with her hands on hips. Eyes narrow. And John felt like he was being read from head to toe. Like one glance and Mary would read every word of the conversation he had with Sherlock Holmes.

Wait. Was he supposed to tell Mary that Sherlock Holmes texted him last night? But how would that sound? If the texts were not there on his phone, John was sure that he imagined it last night. But how relevant or irrelevant was it is to let Mary know? And if he hid it, would it be awkward the next meeting? But who even texted people at midnight?

“Hello? Did you just phase out or something? John?”

“Oh sorry.” John blinked. “I guess I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Yeah that must be it. I am meeting some friends after my shift today. So don’t wait up, darling.”

“Okay. Have a good time.” John nodded and got out of the room.

 

****

 

When his shift ended, John realized that it was still too early to go back to the flat. And it would be empty anyway. Not very tempting. And even less tempting when it was not even empty. The flat never felt like home. And nowadays that feeling was exaggerated. The answer was somewhere deep inside of his mind. Like a lot of other things. But not the place. Not the time. And never the situation. So like the ball of hair in the corner of the room, it just grew bigger silently. And John pretended that it was not there. It was better that way.

“Mike?”

Mike who was concentrating on the file in front of him, looked up. His glasses almost hanging from the tip of his nose.

“Hey John! How is it going?”

That man always gave such a positive vibe. It made John’s worries melt away a tiny fraction. Which was a lot, considering current circumstances.

“Are you done with your shift?” John hesitated by the door.  “I was wondering if we could go to the pub? I feel exhausted, mate and am in dire need of a drink.”

“Oh yes, I can definitely have one too. Handling kids is not really a fun business.” Mike chuckled as he piled up the papers on the side of his desk.  “I am very stressed, trust me.  Almost done with everything. Just give me five minutes for the paperwork.”

Mike took fifteen minutes. Not that John would complain. Looking at the crowd while waiting outside the clinic proved to be a soothing distraction. How many people were not willing to go home like him today? How many people were hiding secrets? What was Sherlock Holmes doing right now? What was wrong with John Watson?

“Let’s go?” Mike stopped beside him.

 

****

 

After ordering the beer and gulping down at least four sips, Mike spoke. “Oh John, I forgot to ask. So how was the famous Sherlock Holmes?”

“Uh?” John became sure that somehow miraculously Mike knew about the fact that John had texted Sherlock Holmes all night. His heartbeat started to accelerate.

“You did meet him right? How was the meeting?”

Oh. That. How ridiculous. Haha. Phew.

“It went um, well?” John sipped his drink, cursing himself for getting stupid all of a sudden. And paranoid. Why all of a sudden was he so paranoid? This was like hiding the little notes Eddie used to give him between classes. He never knew why he felt like hiding it back then. It took a while to understand why he had felt like he did back then and why it should have been hidden.

“That’s good. I told Tanya the other day about how you are going to him and her first words were ‘Oh my, I hope he outlives his insults. They can get pretty intense’, so anything like that happen?” Mike smiled. Eagerly.

“He is intense.” John licked his lips. “Very dedicated to his job and does not like to be disturbed.” _And he is different in a weird way where he tells me to get out in front of everyone and then at midnight texts me to apologize._

John itched inside to ask someone if he did that with every client. Insulting them and then apologizing in a unique way. Was it normal to ask Mike to ask his sister-in-law?

“Tanya said he insults people so much and never bothers to apologize but it compensates, actually. His work is so beautiful that no one will mind if he calls people peasants while making their wedding a fairytale.” It was like Mike somehow could read John’s mind to answer the unasked question.

Oh.

John took another sip from his glass taking some time to process the new information. It was a bit overwhelming. So Sherlock Holmes did not apologize like that. Maybe Tanya was an exception and he usually did. But then why would no one ever mention it? Every personal blog column describing him always had one thing in common: how obnoxious an arsehole he was and how he insulted everyone.

John felt like he should tell Mike the same. That Sherlock Holmes as expected insulted the hell out of him and then never apologized. That they had two meetings and he was rude and very impossible from time to time. Because that was the logical thing to do. For both Sherlock Holmes and him.

Maybe the texts last night were an exception made for him. Only him.

And that thought made John’s neck hairs stand straight. The thought itself felt like illegal drugs. No one made exceptions for him. Ever. Even the people who should have. Why then would that man?

The rest of the evening went in a haze. John didn’t quite register Mary’s description of her friends. Someone had a new dog or a new baby. Someone’s hair was shorter or perhaps it was their skirt. The words just bounced back and his toes tingled. That night when Mary was asleep John opened his inbox again. And then without going further shut his phone off. Beside him Mary grunted in discomfort. Maybe a bad dream? John turned towards his fiancée and let the exhaustion wash over him.

Three days since the phone chimed with a text alert from the once unknown number now saved as Sherlock Holmes. His leg had started to hurt again.

 

****

 

John thought that at least an upcoming wedding would stop the usual weekly bickering that slowly became a routine in the household against John’s wishes. It always started small and then quickly went out of control and John wished that someday he would get used to it but he never did. Every time he found himself angry and shouting on the outside and helpless and alone on the inside. And Mary very rarely lost her patience. Sometimes it felt like she enjoyed it. To start a fire and watch it spiral out of control.

“You are overreacting, John. Really this is unnecessary.” Mary rolled her eyes biting the last of the toast on her plate.

“I am overreacting?” John could not believe his own ears. Or Mary’s nonchalant behaviour over such a huge decision. She sat there like John was making a fuss over whose turn it was to do the groceries.

“What do you want me to do? Be at home and tend to our future children?” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s not my life. That’s not who I am.”

“I never said that, Mary. Don’t make the argument about what it actually isn’t.”

John’s head felt like it would burst. His veins were pulsing like a freight train. Why every time he was in the same place, feeling the same, he had no idea. There was no way out of this. _Almost_ no way.

“So you have a problem with me trying for a better job? You mean more money is such a huge problem?” She sounded so calm. John wished that it would transfer to him.

“No it’s not about the money. Money is not the problem. But how will it benefit us if we have to maintain two households in two places?” John could not hold himself any longer and realized his pitch was higher.

“Don't be ridiculous.” Mary scrunched her nose.

“I am not being ridiculous Mary!”

Mary opened her mouth to reply.

“No, let me complete my words for once, for God’s sake.” John lifted a finger. “Just let me complete this.”

Mary lifted her eyebrows.

“We are getting married and the whole purpose of it is so that we can stay together strongly, isn’t it? I suppose it is not just for the tax benefit? Then how is it  supposed to work if you are over there in France and I am here in London? I don’t even get enough free time now! Then how is it going to be beneficial for us? Our relationship?”

Maybe his voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears. But John didn’t care.

“Why aren’t you considering the other option?” Mary shrugged. “The one where we get to stay together?”

“The other option?” John stopped midway of buttoning his jacket.

“Yes, we could just move to France.”

“You are joking. You must be.” John chuckled. “That can’t be an option.”

“Does my face give it away? That I am joking? Let me clarify. I am not. “

“You know it’s not an option for me.”

“Why? Explain.”

“I… I don't know. I think I can't leave London.”

“Is it because of Harry? You know she can live without you. She does actually. When was the last time she talked to you?” Mary replied getting up with her plate. “Two months?”

“It’s not her, Mary. It's me. I can't leave the little bit of familiarity I have here.”

“So I should never consider any job out of this place just because you can't leave?”

“I have never told you that. I am not telling you that you should not have a better job. I am just telling you how it will not work as it should if we are in two different places. You in France. Me in London. I am sure there are more libraries in London where you get a better pay and we could live as we are.”

“Just stop talking, John.” Mary replied putting the plate on the sink calmly. Then stalked over and put a finger in the middle of John’s chest. Her eyes so cold that John wanted to look somewhere else.

“Why are you trying to stop me John?”

“I am not stopping you. I am just… talking about… us.” John raised his hand to touch Mary’s cheek. She was standing close and her floral perfume was clean and crisp. Maybe inside her somewhere was the woman left who used to wear the same perfume and used to look at John and talk about a house on the quiet side of London. A garden in the back. Freshly baked bread in the oven. Stability.

“Aren't you overreacting?” Mary narrowed her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You said we needed to discuss this.”

“It won't be the end of the world if I move to France. We can meet halfway. We can work this out. I am sorry if it seemed like I am putting pressure on you. But you are the one being unreasonable.” Mary was shaking her head.

“I am sorry.” John realized he was pleading and apologizing for something that was not even his fault to begin with. Or maybe it was? What if she left him? Where would he go? What would he do? He really was being unreasonable, wasn’t he?

Mary walked backward until she was standing closer to the bedroom door than John’s reach.

“Yeah. I am sorry too. But I need some time alone, John.” Mary closed the bedroom door behind her.

 

****

 

The whole day John felt awful. Like someone was twisting his guts inside while punching his stomach repeatedly. Mary never picked up the phone. Didn’t respond to any of his texts. And when John came back to the flat in the evening after a tiring shift with steaming takeaway in hand, the whole flat was cold and dark. And didn’t seem like anyone was in.

“Mary?” John asked in the darkness fully expecting to not get any answers back. But after turning on the light, a note on the kitchen counter caught his eyes. And the first thought that came to John’s mind was that she must have left him. The thought evoked a whole array of emotions.

He picked up the note with trembling fingers.

**I am at Beth’s for the weekend. Will be back on Monday. -M**

The cream coloured paper and the black ink both mocked him silently. For having emotions he should not have. Because as impossible as it might sound, John felt a tiny bit disappointed.

After sinking onto the sofa, John thought maybe it would have been a good decision if he had gone to the pub straight from the clinic. At least being drunk would help him from feeling and being hopeless.

There should be a bottle of brandy somewhere hidden in the cupboard. Because Mary did not allow drinks in the house. John went looking for it in the cupboard and after blindly searching for a minute, felt delighted when his hand touched the bottle. He didn’t even have the energy to change his clothes. He poured the first glass.

“This one is for being a coward.” He cheered at the empty room holding the glass full of the amber liquid. No one cheered back.

“This one is for being a weak example of a human being.” Another glass. The liquid didn't really wash away everything it should have. But John fantasized that it did.

“This one is for being a sodding mess.”

The phone might have blinked with a new text alert. But John was too out of it to even register that, let alone respond.

 

****

  
When he woke up in the morning, thankfully a day with a late shift at the clinic, it felt like he had been run over by a car. His whole body was aching due to falling asleep at an awkward angle. And for other reasons. The mind affects the body.

There was no call from Mary, of course. No messages either. John didn’t really expect it. But what he never expected was his phone telling him that he had a new message from Sherlock Holmes of all people.

John bit his lip and looked down at his phone. His heart reminding him quite loudly of its presence. Yes, it had been exactly three days. And yes, he had thought about the texts over and over whenever he could. He had gone over the conversation multiple times to understand why Sherlock Holmes suddenly chose him as the point of breaking a rule. What made him the point of a diversion for a man who had never faltered from his usual behaviour?

**What was your kill count in the army? And exactly where did the bullet hit you? It’s the shoulder. Tell me it’s the shoulder. Right one? -SH**

John had to smile at that. Because apparently this human had no idea of how conversations worked. Who asked people personal questions like that without an introduction, anyway? Especially to someone who he knew for maybe a couple of weeks tops. How did he function? Not like normal people of course. And that was adorable in a strange way.

John realized he needed a shower and maybe a meal before he could talk with a human, adult child. After binning last night’s takeaway and returning the brandy bottle to its previous position, John took a long, hot shower. Rubbing his skin raw until he could remove the previous night’s pathetic feelings from his pores. It didn’t work. It never worked. Maybe if he could turn his skin inside out and rub it with soap, it would work.

After finding fresh clothes, having the usual hangover helper aspirin and feeling a bit better, John stretched on the sofa. And picked up his phone.

**You know, these kind of personal questions are not really the type of questions people ask out of the blue like this? At least ask me how I am.**

Who knows what that man was doing. But the reply took time. By then John was quite immersed in a crappy television drama.

**I know you don’t mind me asking, so why bother with what ordinary people do? And how uncivilized of me. How are you? -SH**

**Also you took quite a long time to answer. I texted you last night. I could have really used the particular conversation then. I was bored and sleepless. -SH**

That made John’s stomach twist. In the good kind of way. In which the warmth was comfortable and went lower and lower until his head went dizzy. The thought of feeling wanted was better than any drug. Rivalled any aphrodisiac. Sherlock Holmes got bored and sleepless and out of everyone, out of all the people he could pick (which includes half of London. Because despite mentioning his rudeness, no one forgot to mention how bloody gorgeous that man was) he picked John. But yeah, John definitely missed the opportunity.

Wasn’t he a committed man? Wasn’t this supposed to feel wrong?

**Oh sorry. I didn’t realize. So you don’t wanna talk now? I am sorry. I thought I should reply as soon as possible.**

 

**Nonsense. Did I say that? I said I could use it then. That does not mean I can’t enjoy it now. -SH**

That’s something. People enjoyed John’s company suddenly? That used to be normal three or four years ago. When people actually used to be really interested in him.

**Why?**

He had to ask.

**Why what? -SH**

 

**Why are you texting me this time? Last time I got it. You needed to apologize. But you don’t need to do it now. I accepted your apology, didn’t I? Then why are we still talking? Why are you texting me in the middle of the night?**

The reply took maybe a few seconds longer to come.

**I don’t know really. -SH**

**I think I am trying to make conversation. -SH**

 

**Out of all people why me?**

 

**Out of which people? -SH**

John sighed. And then carefully typed.

**Ok. I am going to clarify. I know for a fact that you are rude and arrogant to everyone and you never apologize to them. Certainly not by texting them in the middle of the night. If you did, that would be widely known. So you don’t. Then why me? What did I do right or wrong?**

 

**You did nothing wrong. -SH**

**I don’t know really. I had a feeling out of nowhere that I could talk to you. And you would not really judge me. -SH**

John’s heart ached. If that man had to search for acceptance with a stranger, how deprived could he be? And terrified to be judged? It was worse than John, then.

**I think that’s fair enough.**

 

**It is? -SH**

 

**Yes. Now you had question?**

 

**Yes I do. Where did the bullet hit you? Is it the right one? -SH**

 

**My left shoulder. Shattered the bone there.**

 

**Fascinating. It must have left a scar. I wish I could see it. Touch it. Must be fascinating. -SH**

John felt a wave of shivers from head to toe. Inside his mind he certainly knew Sherlock Holmes was not flirting. It was just a statement said matter of factly. He didn’t even know what other meaning it had. But John Watson had had enough of flirting and flirting back in his whole life. And this was not the first time someone expressed a wish to see him. The hidden letters in his old mattress had words over and over. _I wish to see you. I wish to touch you._ The never written words in his palm between the training routines in the army. _I want to see you. I want to touch you right now. Like this. Just as you are._

He never removed his shirt with Mary. Because the way her eyes always fixated on something else other than John during the first times, John knew and cursed himself for taking so much time to understand. Why would anyone want to see the gnarly piece of skin? Which looked like God’s cruel joke. And very, very ugly. To look at, to touch. And it never let John forget its existence. Sometimes it felt like even through the layers of clothes people could see it. And hate him. And pity him. John didn’t know which was worse.

**It’s not aesthetically pleasing really. Just an ugly wound. Not fascinating at all.**

 

**That’s bollocks. Who are you to decide that? -SH**

 

**Because it’s on me? Am I not a good judge of it for that reason?**

 

**No, you are not. Only others who see it can judge for you. -SH**

After the wound, Mary was the only one. And she hated it. And that was the end of the story.

**Let’s say it always got the downvote.**

 

**They are morons then. -SH**

Sherlock Holmes really did sound like a child. A very stubborn one who stomped his feet at everything that did not go according to his words.

**You are a very weird person, Mr Holmes. And stubborn.**

 

**I think you already called me those. Anything else in mind? And please call me Sherlock. -SH**

 

**Ok then, Sherlock. How does crazy sound ?**

 

**Pretty damn good. It certainly has its charm. But it is also a popular nickname. -SH**

 

**:)**

 

**What are you? Twelve? -SH**

John could almost see how Sherlock’s nose must have scrunched at that. Posh thing.

_No you are._

**Because of the smiley? Everyone does it.**

 

**You are not everyone. Don’t do it. - SH**

 

**Ok as you say. :) (Last time)**

John giggled as soon as he pressed the send button.

**You are just intolerable. -SH**

 

**Look who’s talking.**

 

**God not now. -SH**

 

**Sorry?**

 

**I am so very sorry. I gotta dash. My assistant is currently banging on my door so hard that it could fall at any moment. I guess I could catch you later? -SH**

 

**Certainly. Bye for now, Sherlock.**

 

**Laters, John. -SH**

The grin that emerged on John’s face refused to dissolve anytime soon. And John welcomed that. The warm, inexplicable feeling of all his first times somehow got multiplied by a thousand and it was one of the best things that could have happened to his boring life. He had never felt this alive since joining the army.

John thought maybe the aftershock of the second session of texting would have a much more diluted effect. But he discovered that he had been wrong. None of the feelings were showing signs of retreating any time soon. If anything, he was just getting more curious about the man. No idea if that was entirely a good idea. Or a good idea at all.

John creaked his neck and looked up. By then the daylight outside had decreased. It was cloudy but had not yet reached evening.

John hesitated for a few seconds and then typed on his phone.

**I am sorry on my fiancée’s behalf. I forgot to tell you. I think she sent you more than one email and called you several times which is very unprofessional. She really does not listen to me.**

Five hours later, when John was done with his ready to eat dinner and was attempting to open his book to read the last remaining chapter, his phone vibrated with a new text alert.  Quite a long one.

**I think I should tell you one thing, John. I am forgiving each one of her behaviours on behalf of you. Even before you told me to do so. I don’t know why but suddenly you feel really important. I am mostly a friendless person, John. Although I will never say it out loud, I could really use a friend. I am sorry if it sounds weird to you. I will stop anytime you wish and this will not affect our professional relationship. -SH**

John could not match the man in the posts he read with the man texting him at that moment. Did he by any chance press a switch somewhere in the man? Did everyone know it was just a mask?

And that actually made things worse. Because the feelings starting to creep in his mind were very, very familiar. It was that feeling. The same one where Steve had said that John was his first kiss. Or when Miranda said she would never forget John. There would be no one to even compare. He almost forgot how it felt like to be special. Those feelings were long buried inside. Last seen in the first months with a woman like Mary Morstan. Then it was just swept away like dust in the wind. Forgotten.

And then a few days ago, it came back with a bang. It was worse. Only this time, it was intense. Far more than ever. And should not be happening at all.

**It does not sound weird. And don’t you dare stop texting me.**

That’s all John could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have blown my mind with the response on this fic. Thank you for all the comments, all the kudos, all the subscriptions (over 200! Who knew this much people wants to have the journey of this story). First chapter of new year. Wish you guys a wonderful new year! Lots of love. Will be waiting for your comments as usual.


	6. It will sharpen it

 

 

 

> **_I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,_ **  
>  **_in secret, between the shadow and the soul._ **  
>  **_I love you as the plant that never blooms_ **  
>  **_but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;_ **  
>  **_thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,_ **  
>  **_risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._ **
> 
> **_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where._ **
> 
> **_-Pablo Neruda_ **

 

 

“What’s up, Junior Holmes! Celebrating something?”

Greg Lestrade sat on the chair unceremoniously and took a sip of his coffee. Like the man he was, Lestrade always preferred his coffee simple. And had never diverted from his routine in the six years of knowing him. No wonder Mycroft married him. That man liked everything to be in a routine. Even his spouse. The only thing he could not manage to bring in line was his brother. And that killed him. On the other hand, it gave Sherlock a vicious kind of joy.

“Why? You enjoyed quite a night of experimental coitus. For that? That’s not something I should be celebrating at all. Also hope you didn’t keep him in handcuffs for too long. I worry about him.”

“Your attempt at making me embarrassed is not working, trust me. Your brother is too good a shag. Your words do not touch me. They glide from my skin like raindrops off a leaf.”

Greg wiggled his eyebrows.

There was a roll of laughter from somewhere. Sounded like Irene.

“Tell my brother I said hello. I am very close to forgetting what he looks like. Does he look like a human? God, I really can’t remember.”

“Don’t blame him alone. You could visit us too.” Greg continued drinking his coffee calmly.

“I am busy.” Sherlock bared his teeth at his brother in law.

“So is he.”

“Point taken.” Sherlock went back to looking at the list in front of him and felt two eyes still looking at him. And when he raised his eyes to see if it was just a false feeling, he found that it was not. Lestrade was indeed looking at him with an amused smile on his face.

“Is it my hair?”

“What?”

“You are looking at me. Is it my hair? Is this new hair cream making me look oily? I had my doubts.”

“It’s not your hair, you idiot. It’s fine.” Greg was still smiling. Like he had uncovered a secret. And God knows how many Sherlock had.

“Then why are you looking at me? Look at something else. Look at the window. Or your phone. Drink your coffee.”

“There is something different.” Greg drummed his fingers on the table.

“Like?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

“You are glowing. You are just glowing. Can't explain it. But you are. I just saw you smile to yourself. You never do that. And a new hair product? Since when are you trying new things? What is going on?”

Sherlock tried very hard to not give out anything. Because it was clear that his attempt to be subtle failed after all. And the man in front of him had known him for too long.

“Nothing is going on.” He looked at the paper in front of him. “You are just making up a theory out of variables which happen to occur simultaneously. I might have had a good night’s sleep. Which is proven to be healthy. Irene recommended me this new product. So I decided to use that today.”

“And you are smiling because you are just happy about your hair product?” Greg’s eyebrows almost touched the ceiling. “That is such a lame excuse, my God. I am disappointed. I expect lame excuses from your brother. Not you.” He really did sound disappointed.

“Every time my lip muscles stretch does not mean I am smiling, Gavin.” Sherlock tried with poor logic as a last chance. Hoping Greg would just get annoyed and stop asking.

“Stop it, will you? You are acting like a teenager trying to make excuses after getting caught wanking. I can see it in your eyes. And also you keep checking your phone. You are not fooling me. So who is the lucky man?” Greg dragged his chair closer as if there was no table between them.

 _John Watson. And he is not the lucky one in this equation. I am. But there is a catch. He is not available_.

That did not come out. Not that Sherlock intended it to.

“You are seeing what’s not even there. And if you are done with your small talk we can concentrate on why you are here today. The clients will be here any minute. And I seriously doubt Mr Lance will choose the mutton. If he does, I will be concerned for his health.”

“What are you hiding?” Greg did not look like a man who would give up soon. And Sherlock had nothing left to hold the fort.

“I am not hiding anything.” His feet felt numb from keeping them tensed in one place.

“So you say. Anyway. When are they coming?”

Sherlock let out a breath of relief when Greg changed the subject and started to tell Sherlock about the holiday he was thinking about taking in a few weeks. Mycroft needed a break from all the high pressure work. And he was tired of all the bland food, all the time.

This, the work, was better. This was the place where Sherlock had answers for everything. Because it was just a few interactions with a man a few times. And Sherlock had already dressed for him. It was still hours until John Watson would walk into the room. But since waking up, there had been a constant tingle all over his body. Like he himself had turned into the violin and someone was playing him mercilessly.

The look Irene had in her eyes lately clearly said she caught something as well. If Greg could, so could she. And to be honest, Sherlock realized he didn’t care suddenly.  Because last night’s conversation was still painted in his eyes.

John had been telling army stories. And was awake most of the night. It was quite clear that Mary was not home for two nights. John didn’t say why. And that made it apparent that they must have had some kind of argument.

**So what I was saying. This lad, Steve, looked like a rake. In width and length. But he could lift a mountain.**

**All the time? Not because of a rush of adrenaline? -SH**

**No. Wake him up in the godforsaken morning and ask him to lift the cooks’ help, who was like 14 stones, and he could.**

**That’s fascinating. Excellent muscle strength. -SH**

**And there was our local contact Ashraf, who could bend metal rods, not your sissy thin ones. Solid stuff. With his bare hands.**

**Okay I get it, you have met excellent muscled people in your whole life. Your point being? -SH**

**That I am nothing special and I have no idea why you have this interest in me because of my military background. I am just your average, run of the mill military doctor with a bullet wound and a therapist and a psychosomatic limp.**

**Will you continue to do this? -SH**

Sherlock had sighed looking at the screen.

**Do what?**

**This attempt to tell me over and over that you are not worth anything. -SH**

**Because I am not.**

**I don’t know who got that idea in your head. But I need to personally meet them and clarify. -SH**

**Ok. I get it. I am tremendously fascinating. Just enlighten me. Give me two points. Why am I fascinating, Sherlock Holmes?**

Sherlock’s fingers had hovered over the keyboard for the longest time.

_I don’t know. Because maybe I had a hole in my heart. And you, with your never-fixing-on-one-colour hair, one of which I named tantalizing beige, and your brighter than the damn sun presence and your bullet wound I just want to touch so badly and maybe taste the remaining gunpowder in there, and the psychosomatic limp which is clearly stress induced because this relationship you are in is killing you, has fit in that hole so perfectly that I am sure there has always been a secret plan in the cosmos to make me meet you. Tell me John Watson. Are you impressed? Did I make it clear why I can’t get you out of my head?_

No, that’s not what he typed. He took time typing each word. Thinking twice. By that time,  John had sent another text.

**See you are taking time. If you have to think about it that hard, then how can it be really important?**

**If I knew the answer myself I would tell you. People usually don’t realize why they become besotted in the beginning. It takes time to understand. But nevertheless usually the object of infatuation takes great pride in it. You should too. -SH**

And only after hitting the send button, the choice of words slowly hit Sherlock. He was being an idiot and showing half the cards of his hand.

 

**You mean you are infatuated with me?**

_I am almost sure that I am in love with you. But I can't burden you with that._

Sherlock took a gulp looking at the screen. Some things were so painful to not tell.

**That’s just a comparison. I was not being exact. -SH**

Good thing the human race didn’t have extraordinary hearing abilities. Because the way Sherlock’s heart raced inside his ribcage, it had the ability to wake Mrs Hudson up, herbal soothers be damned.

**That’s disappointing.**

**What is disappointing? -SH**

**It just being a comparison.**

Sherlock really forgot to breathe.

**Sherlock?**

**I am just messing with you. Sorry if I crossed the line.**

_You didn’t cross anything. You just went in the perfect way when I thought nothing perfect was possible in these imperfect circumstances. Unfortunately, we can’t have that. And I am fairly sure you are not joking. But I will not say that. I will pretend I totally understood the humour and the joke is on you._

**I am an adult and in possession of enough grey matter to understand a joke, John. What you mean or don’t mean. You will never have to clarify. -SH**

**Glad to know that.**

The conversation went in a different direction after that. But Sherlock's heart never stopped racing. Because John Watson sat on the other side of the line at least having some semblance of the feeling Sherlock was having. And there could never be any bigger news than that in the world. And suddenly nothing mattered anymore. Not the fact that John Watson was a committed man ready to get married nor that Sherlock Holmes was actually arranging it.

 

****

 

“So Miss Morstan, as you are quite expressive about your ideas. Just tell me beforehand what type of venue you have in mind. Because I am certain you do.”

Mary’s eyes went suspicious when John just hid a small smile. “Are you mocking me or asking a genuine question?”

“Is my tone the same in both cases?”

“Almost. At least I can’t tell the difference.” Then her head turned to John and her voice changed to a confused tone. “Well that’s a character development. Why are you smiling?”

“That was funny. Why shouldn’t I?” The ghost of a smile on the thin lips were so very attractive. Did Sherlock notice that before? How beautiful that smile looked.

Oh yes. He never saw him smile before that.

“Because the last time you were in the room, you had to be thrown out. Wonder what happened in one week?” Mary snorted and looked back at Sherlock.

John pursed his lips and went back to looking at the leaflet in his hand. And before looking down, for a very tiny fraction of a second his eyes fixated on Sherlock. Not long enough for Mary to see. But long enough for Sherlock to absorb. To remind him of the cerulean blue again. To register how much better John was in real life than the image in his head. And enough to start a little riot in the nerve endings that made his vision go blurry, palms sweat and brain confused about his surroundings.

Was this how people were supposed to feel like when they were in…

“Love this one. Is this Pembroke?” Mary picked up a photograph from the folder.

Sherlock cleared his throat, which felt so dry that he doubted that he may not have drank water for a month.

“This one.” Mary turned the picture for Sherlock to see.

The front gate of that lodge was too familiar. And the double columns. There was a hand on his shoulder that day, forcing him outside the venue. In front of the eyes of the baffled guests who did not have the time to take the whole situation in, an angry groom who came running at him with a look of betrayal in his eyes, and another groom who looked like he witnessed the end of the world. That day there was too much sun outside. And everything hurt. Inside and on his skin.

“That one is in Richmond.” Sherlock breathed out slowly. “It’s expensive. And a bit small for the number of guests you will have. You don’t want that one.”

“How expensive? I am sure I can manage. Let me see the rates.” She swiftly opened her phone and started tapping.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock did not hide his irritation. She had disturbed him enough already with too many Pinterest boards. There was a reason Sherlock rejected most people.

“Looking it up on Hitched.” Mary didn’t even bother to look up.

Sherlock took a deep breath and calmed himself. John was looking at him with the same ‘I am so sorry she is doing this’ look in his eyes.

“Miss Morstan. If you don’t stop doing that, I can assure you this will be our last meeting and you can arrange your wedding yourself. Good luck with that.”

“No, you can’t do that.” Mary snorted.

“I can. I did it before, trust me.”

That made her look up and gaze intently at Sherlock’s eyes. Maybe to see if underneath that stern voice if Sherlock was bluffing. It lasted a few seconds. The silent battle of nerves. And then as always, Sherlock won.

“That’s a shame. Really liked this one.” Mary put down the photo and curled her lips. Behind her, John looked up and this time smiled a shy smile. Clearly he did not tell his fiancée about the texting. Of course, why would he? But he didn’t tell her about the apology either. And Sherlock suddenly felt like a secret. One worthy enough to keep. Worth more than enough if he was that man’s secret.

There was always a thrill to being a secret. And that reminded him over and over how wrong that was. This man was there to get married. Not to start an affair. But the thing was Sherlock Holmes had already gotten blamed for something when he had nothing to do with it. The constant assumptions and scrutiny. That made people stop caring.

Sherlock smiled back. And Irene chose that perfect moment to walk inside the room.

The way John’s head snapped at the door and he went back to the booklet, and the way Sherlock himself like a fool could not help to glance at John again, would have made things clear to even an infant. So Irene just froze in her place for a second and her eyes went wide. Then she recovered quickly and walked beside Sherlock.

“Having a hard time choosing the venue, Miss Morstan?”

Her voice was normal but her eyes were not. Sherlock tried to ignore it. And the rest of the meeting was spent as he thought. Mary could not decide on any venue. Clarendon Hotel was declared too ugly and Eltham Lodge was downright cancelled because a friend of hers got married there. And it didn’t look like she was too fond of her.

“Getting married at the same venue as Olivia? Not in my wildest dreams!”

“Not even Stephen’s House and Gardens? It’s a lovely place for pictures.” Irene tried for the last time.

“No, god I hate the decor. Not up to my taste. And it’s so out of the way. Totally inconvenient. Is that all?” She sounded disappointed.

“Then we can visit some of the other venues we think will best suit your needs. That will be better.” Irene told Mary. “I will arrange a date then, what do you say?”

“That sounds good to me. John?”

“Yes, I don’t have a problem with anything.” John didn’t look at Sherlock. Just nodded at the wall and then briefly glimpsed at Irene.

After all the occupants of the room left and their footsteps faded and some brief time passed, the sound of footsteps was coming back. Faster than normal. Sherlock counted. Five, four, three, two, one. And Irene was inside. Closing the door harder than recommended.

“Tell me you are not being stupid.” She didn’t sound totally angry. Mostly disappointed. And Sherlock although knowing why, as always pretended to not understand.

“About what?”

“Don’t do that to me. You know about what. I know what I saw.” Yes, now the initial disappointment had passed, she sounded angrier than before.

“It’s really nothing.” Sherlock murmured. Suddenly not daring to look at her.

“So is that it? Is that all? Tell me what else. You are talking. Texting?”

It was very scary when people knew you too much to predict everything you could do. Sometimes it was a blessing. Sometimes it was not. Because then there was nothing left to hide anymore.  And it goes without saying that some things needed to be hidden.

Sherlock decided it was better to not make her any more angry by not confessing.

“Yes, I texted him to apologize for my rude behaviour the other day and he is a nice man and we are just talking. That’s it.” Sherlock made a vague gesture with his hands. “Can you stop being paranoid?!”

“Yeah, call me paranoid. Because I can see what is going on here. You know what? At least Victor Trevor was in a loving relationship. That’s why I will always believe that you had nothing to do with it.”

“Why is he coming into this? It was in the past! You promised that we would not talk about it and still you keep bringing him up.” Sherlock knew he didn’t sound like an adult at that point. Because one mention of that name and he felt like a helpless child.

“Because it has to be said. John Watson, who was just sitting here and you could not even move your eyes from him. He is not in a happy relationship. Is that why you chose him? You got a haircut. Is that a new Dolce and Gabbana, Sherlock Holmes?” Irene was definitely shouting now.

“Don’t insult me, Irene. You are the last person I will expect that from. Please.” And he was on the verge of breaking down. Because it was not easy handling all the truths together. Particularly when she was correct about everything. It was all those fears Sherlock had. And she was circling all of them with a red sharpie.

“I am not, I am not, gosh I am so sorry.” Irene walked over and took Sherlock’s hand. Her voice low and sincere.

“I am overreacting because I care, Sherlock.” Her thumb brushed over Sherlock’s knuckles in a soothing pattern. And as impossible as that sounded, that did calm Sherlock down. And he was breathing again.

“I know.” He whispered. Head hung. Not wanting to meet her eyes.

“I was there for you then. I will be there for you always. It just hurts to see you suffer with the consequences. That’s all, dear.” She patted his arms. “I just don’t want you to go back to that blaming and depressive self… ”

“I will be alright.” Sherlock shook his head, cutting Irene off mid-sentence.

She continued looking at him. And then sighed audibly.

“If you say so. Then yes. I believe you.”

 

****

 

Sherlock was almost near his flat which meant the end of his evening running session when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He slowed down and stepped at the side. Hoping that the text better be from who he thought it was. He didn’t dare to text John after the meeting in morning.

**Can I call you?**

Sherlock closed his eyes because the words took a bit of time to sink in. And then his heart accelerated a tiny bit. More than it already was from running. Actually, his heart rate was not a concern when there were things fluttering in your stomach. According to popular culture, those were supposed to be butterflies.

John Watson was now asking things. And Sherlock thought he was imagining it all in is head.

His hand trembled typing the words.

**Yes, you can. But what's the matter? -SH**

No reply came. Instead his phone started to ring.

“Hello.” John sounded shy suddenly.

It was stupid to feel like that. It was not that he was listening to that voice for the first time. He had been texting John, having meetings with John. Having that feeling was childish in a sense.

“Hi.” And Sherlock realized he sounded more shy than John.

“You sound breathless. Exercising?”

“Yes was just running. Did something happen?”

“No. No.” John chuckled. “Everything is alright. I just wanted to hear your voice. And tell you something.”

“Yes. Go on.” Sherlock discovered that texting was actually safer. Because the typed words didn’t bring his emotions on display like this. Right now his whole body was buzzing like a tuning fork. And it was a hardship to hide the trembling of his voice. Was John nervous like him too?

“Tell me if I am crossing boundaries, please.” Yes, John was nervous. And that was terrifying.

“I believe you will not. Say it.” Sherlock’s voice went down an octave. And he wondered if John could actually hear him.

“You were looking very handsome today. That’s all.” John laughed on the other side of the phone. Probably to lighten the mood and implications of the statement. Sherlock knew enough to distinguish between a joke and sincere words.

There was a certain kind of shiver which only manifested when the people who you want to say something to you, actually do. Sherlock didn’t know what it was called. But surely he realized for the first time how it felt.

“I am flattered. Thank you, John.” Sherlock knew that to the passersby glancing at him,  he probably looked like a teenager trying to not blush while talking to someone on a phone.

“And sorry on behalf of my fiancée. Again. She doesn’t really know when to stop.” John sounded very ashamed. And the things Sherlock wanted to say since the first time John started to apologize for Mary, he decided it was time to say those things.

“You should stop doing that, you know. That on behalf thing. She is not sorry for how she behaves with me. And I am used to that. Why should you apologize, John?”

“I feel like that’s my responsibility.” John sounded confused.

“I don’t know who planted that idea inside you.” _Actually I know who. But it’s not my place to say it. Yet._ “But trust me. Everything is not your responsibility, John Watson. You are not obliged either.”

There was steady breathing on the other side of the phone. Just breathing. No reply.

“John?”

“I guess you are right.”

“I always am. Now do you wanna know something funny? I saw two army lads today at the pub I went to with my brother in law. Boring pub. Anyway. One of them reminded me of you. Same hair.”

“Some young army lads took your breath away then? I am not even gonna compare am I?” John sounded mock disappointed.

“Shut up. Don’t be stupid.” It had been a long time since he had laughed like this on the phone. Just nonsense words and giggles. Actually he had never had this. And assumed like it must be awfully boring. But now he realized it was not as it looked. No wonder Greg said he was glowing. Happiness makes you glow. No matter how absurd that sounded like.

John was still laughing. Sherlock hated instantly himself for asking the next question.. “Mary is not there, I presume.”

John’s laughter ceased.

“Yeah, she is not.” John cleared his throat. Suddenly sounding uncomfortable.

“We are having a fight. And she is living at her friend’s house for a few days. She actually went to today’s meeting from there and went back there after the meeting. She will be here tomorrow.”

“I am sorry.” There was more things to say than just that. _Are you feeling alone? Can I be there? Can you be here? Can we never stop talking? Can you not get married to her? Can you not see it’s killing you?_

“It’s fine. I am not really sad. Which is odd. Am I not supposed to be?” John sounded tired and confused. Sherlock wished that he had the power to stop this wedding at least. There would be no regret if there was no future of whatever they were having right now. Sherlock could sacrifice that much. But seeing someone slowly digging their own grave was a painful experience.

“I don’t know, John.”Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently.

_I know but I can’t tell you._

“Neither do I.” John sighed. Sherlock did not know what to say anymore. Mycroft used to joke that he would outlive God trying to have the last word. How can this man change even that?

“Can I call you again sometime?” John clearly hesitated. “I love talking to you. I know you are a busy man with all the things you have to handle. Texting, calling, anything, I don’t mind.”

“I always have time for you.” Sherlock chuckled.

There was a giggle on the other side of the line. John Watson giggled in a oddly sweet way. “You say that in that voice of yours. A man can resist very few things you know.”

Before Sherlock could process the odd sentence, John’s voice sounded mildly horrified. “I am so sorry, Sherlock. So sorry.”

“John. It’s okay… ”

“I think we should call it a night. Because here I am again saying inappropriate things at inappropriate places. I am sorry. Good night Sherlock.”

“John. Listen… ” John didn’t wait for any reply and cut the line abruptly. Not letting Sherlock say anything else.

Sherlock stood at the sidewalk, looking at the darkened phone screen while his mind tried to arrange everything that happened in the last few minutes, or the past few weeks.

There was a lot to think about, a lot to say. But now that Sherlock thought about it, maybe it was better like this. Because he really didn’t trust himself.

Texting was better. It let you hide your emotions, not succumbing to the traitor voice. It let you clear and write new sentences.

~~**I am not offended.** ~~

~~**You didn’t cross a line.** ~~

~~**I am an idiot.** ~~

~~**I think I’m in love with you.** ~~

**Goodnight John. -SH**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The texting was a hit among you guys. I didn't realize everyone would enjoy the awkward texting so much. I am really happy that everyone did enjoy. 6 chapters already huh? How time passes. Let me know how you liked this chapter. Or not. Will be waiting for comments as usual. Lots of love.


	7. Forgive its vice

 

> **_If I could take your hand, oh_ **  
>  **_If you could understand_ **  
>  **_That I can barely breathe the air is thin_ **  
>  **_I fear the fall and where we'll land_ **  
>    
>  **_We fight every night for something_ **  
>  **_When the sun sets we're both the same_ **  
>  **_Half in the shadows_ **  
>  **_Half burned in flames_ **  
>  **_We can't look back for nothing_ **  
>  **_Take what you need, say your goodbyes_ **  
>  **_I gave you everything_ **  
>  **_And it's a beautiful crime_ **  
>    
>  **  
> ** ****

 

**You think eating is a waste of time?**

 

**Obviously. -SH**

 

**So eating in restaurants. Nice dinners? People usually like that a lot.**

 

**That’s another level of wasting. Involves enormous amounts of foods whose nutritional values are already reduced. And then comes the small talk. Dreadful. -SH**

 

**Would you prefer it then if food could just be injected into your bloodstream?**

 

**Yes, that’s the way of doing it. -SH**

 

**And you can easily avoid the mindless talking in that way.**

 

**Precisely. -SH**

 

**Then what are we doing now if you hate unnecessary conversations?**

 

**This conversation is hardly unnecessary John. Do keep up.  -SH**

 

**We were talking about whether or not food is crucial for you to survive. I say this conversation should not exist at all.**

 

**You are horribly wrong. -SH**

 

****

 

“There is a bounce in your steps. Excited for the wedding?” Sarah smiled handing John the file.

“Might be.”

John tried to not grin, remembering the last phone call with Sherlock which ended just before he entered the clinic. Certainly Sherlock telling John that he was waiting for John’s call attributed a little to John’s mood. To be honest, it was the actual cause for his cheerful mood. Sherlock was the cause of his sudden smiles which drew the attention of Mary and his hearty laughs which made Mike believe he had too much to drink at the pub, although he had just one pint.

Did the man know how he was slowly changing John’s world while simultaneously making John question everything? Certainly he didn't. Sherlock was seeking friendship. John was making a mountain out of a molehill. It was on him, entirely.

 

****

 

**What do you call someone who doesn’t care to inform me about her sister’s pollen allergy because she thought that ‘She must have grown out of it’? -SH**

 

**Careless. Are you okay?**

 

**I say selfish. Her wedding was moments away from becoming her sister’s funeral because she just assumed that allergies are something to be grown out of. I am ok. But her sister is not. -SH**

 

**I once had a patient during my med school days who had a peanut allergy from childhood and still decided that an anaphylactic shock was better than telling people about his allergy.**

 

**That’s just pathetic. -SH**

 

**Do you have any allergies?**

 

**People. -SH**

 

**I am one of the people.**

 

**Irrelevant. -SH**

 

****

 

Sherlock slowly unbuttoned John’s shirt. A mysterious smile hanging on his lips. The nimble fingers traced John’s scar. Almost not touching it. John found himself melting under that ghost touch. And then Sherlock glanced at him again. His face illuminated by the soft bedside lamp. Making all the sinew curves glow and darken at the same time. This time his eyes darker than before. And then Sherlock leaned in to kiss John's scar...

 

John woke up sweating. His face felt hot and low inside his belly there was a lingering sensation. The dream still dancing behind his eyelids. Sherlock’s face, his fingers, his touch, too vivid. Almost unbelievable as a dream. And funny thing is he didn’t even know how he felt like. Or tasted like.

John turned to his left. Mary was sleeping peacefully beside him.

He took a deep breath and lay there looking at the darkened ceiling. Out of any ideas about the protocol after having a wet dream about your wedding planner, while your fiancée slept beside you.

It wasn't hell really. John could never label thinking about Sherlock Holmes as hell. But it wasn't heaven either.

 

****

 

**Busy?**

 

**Not really. -SH**

 

**Then?**

 

**Wasn’t actually doing anything. Was ready to be succumbed by the darkness known as boredom. Thanks for saving me. You are a true knight. -SH**

 

**I have absolutely no idea if that was sarcasm. But  I believe it is.**

 

**You will never know. -SH**

 

**You should invite me for tea sometimes. We could work on that boredom of yours. Needs a cure. I am an excellent storyteller.**

 

**How daring John. And you are sure stories will work on me? I have slowly gotten immune to words. A hundred times listening to the bride’s parents talk about their own wedding does that to you.- SH**

 

**I am not any bride’s parent.**

 

**You are the groom. Closer to them in characteristics. -SH**

 

**Shut up.**

 

****

 

The woman who opened the door reminded John of his mother. Kind eyes. Kind smile. Flour on her apron. The aroma of garlic bread coming from somewhere.

“Hello.” She smiled at him. The crinkles around her eyes got deeper.

“Hi… um. This is Two Two One B Baker Street, right?”

“That’s what it says on the door.” She tilted her head indicating the numbers and letter on the door.

“Yes. I saw that. And still I am asking like an idiot.” John shook his head.

“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it.” She smiled again. “Are you looking for someone?”

“Yes. Sherlock Holmes.” John smiled back with a confused smile. “He lives here right?”

Her eyes went wide as if in disbelief.

“You are a friend of Sherlock’s? Oh my. You should have said that before. Here to see him because he is sick, I guess? Come on in!” She stepped aside to make way for John.

“I am not… ” _His friend. What am I? I am the guy who texts him at ungodly hours and I have no idea why. I am actually not willing to admit why._

It took John some time to remember that he actually had a professional relationship with the man. “Yes, his friend. But also his client. I am getting married and he is gonna do his usual magic.”

“Put your coat there if you want.” She pointed at the pegs at the front. “No one actually visits him here anymore. I really didn’t know he had friends outside the usual four people who visit him. But if this was two years ago, my first thought of seeing a stranger at the door would be that you must be here for Sherlock Holmes.”

“Yeah, he does his work only in the office.”

“Yes, he does now. But he didn’t use to.” The woman smiled softly to herself.

John debated on whether to ask her why. But before he could ask anything, she spinned the topic.

“Oh how forgetful of me. I am Mrs Hudson. His landlady. He is upstairs being very intolerable right now. Go on. I will send some tea.”

“Oh thank you. But I’m actually alright for now.” John smiled.

“Oh do shut up. No one goes back from here without drinking my tea. Be careful. He acts like a child when he is sick.” She went inside the door marked 221A.

The stairs creaked under his feet. He never actively thought about what Sherlock’s home looked like. And now standing at the doorway of the man, he discovered that this was never in his imagination.

It looked nothing like the man himself. Or his office. It was a cluster of mismatched but also miraculously perfectly matched things. Which should have been impossible. But it wasn’t.

A groan came out from somewhere to his left. And John initially hesitated to just barge inside the room without asking first. And there was that tiny amount of anger with the occupant of that flat. But then another groan and the sound of something falling and John had to put everything aside.

A bright blue dressing gown was what caught his eyes first. The only thing in the room that clearly matched the man he knew. The man wearing the gown possessed a head resembling a bird’s nest. And his face was hidden because the man was crouching on the floor. Looking for something under the table. Hands searching frantically.

Then the man registered his presence. And his hands stopped. And very slowly he looked up.

“Hi.” John raised his hand.

“What are you doing here?” The man who scrunched his nose and proceeded to stand up resembled only fifty percent of Sherlock Holmes. At least the one John saw previously. But that nose scrunching was a hundred percent him.

“Well, you just abruptly stopped replying two days ago and never returned any of my calls. And then yesterday your assistant messages me to tell me that the meeting is going to be rescheduled. I had to call her back and force her to tell me your whereabouts. Now tell me. Why did you not bother to even send me a text informing me of your condition? I am a doctor, am I not? I could be of minimal help.”

What John didn't say was that in the one and a half days spent between Sherlock’s last text and this visit,  John had thought about at least a hundred causes. In all of those scenarios it was his fault.

“You kept me in such an anxious state, Sherlock. Weeks of texting and now you just decided to not tell me you are sick?” He mumbled. Although the whole way here he continually rehearsed what he would tell Sherlock. How he would say how disappointed he was. How that was very bad of Sherlock. How Sherlock didn’t even consider him as a friend. Let alone anything else. How he was gonna channel his frustration into anger.

But Sherlock walked closer. And the dark circles around his eyes became very apparent. How he looked thinner and John thought it was impossible to look thinner than he already was. And the smooth, usual shaved face was full of stubble. He had never imagined Sherlock Holmes with stubble. And, as unsuitable as the situation was, his idiot human side couldn’t look away. Because holy hell, that was attractive. Maybe it was better he didn't treat him. Because that would be the cherry on top upon all the simultaneous rightness and wrongness of this whole endeavour.

“You called Irene?” Sherlock was close. The usual paleness which comes along with a stomach infection very clear on his face. John couldn't stop feeling a bit upset that Sherlock hadn’t bothered to tell him. And he had to call someone else to know. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Would Sherlock flinch if he touched him? Just to take his temperature. Nothing else whatsoever.

“Yes. I called your assistant. Because you didn't care enough to tell me that you had come up with a gastrointestinal infection and were so sick that you can’t even stand up. She was very reluctant to give me your address.”

“It's not really a big deal, John. People fall sick all the time. And I have been known to be quite intolerable when I'm sick.” A smile appeared on Sherlock's face. “It was not pretty. I felt like my whole insides were going to come out through my mouth, which I suspect they did at some point.”

“You should have just texted me.” John sighed.

“Why do you care, John?” Sherlock turned around. Not snapping. No edge to his voice. Just tiredness mixed with curiosity. And maybe a smidge of amusement.

“I… I.” John realized a thousand words were piling upon his tongue. But none of the words dared to come out.

_Don’t say it._

Sherlock's face softened visibly. “It is nice of you to visit me, John.” He sounded shy. And very twitchy suddenly.

“Yes it's… It's what I thought would be best.” John licked his lips in hope of easing the dryness in his mouth.

“You want to say something?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Do I? Yeah, a lot.”

“Go on then. Okay, wait I think I am supposed to take some medicine.” The robe made a swishy sound as Sherlock moved, which was oddly amusing.

“It’s not a question actually. More of an observation.”

“Yeah?”

“I imagined your residence to match… You know, you. What your office looks like. What your… You look like. It’s a totally different kind of atmosphere than your office.”

“John, you are babbling.”

“I know. I’m just. This is different than I thought. It’s messy. But nice. And oddly suits you. This you looks like... This is different. Good. That look suits… you.” John realized he was quickly going off track and praising a man on his sickly looks. It was hard to concentrate on words. When Sherlock Holmes was sprawled on his chair like he forgot every manner of sitting and the dressing gown was falling down from one shoulder.

“You are still babbling, John.”

John couldn’t quite see the eyes of the man sitting in the backdrop of the light outside. But he was looking at him intently. And that made his skin shiver in a pleasant kind of way. The kind of way when James had looked at him from across the passing Jeep in the camp. That was the first time John knew he would regret everything that was to come. But also he might end up regretting nothing. John had no idea who won in the end. Did that ever matter anyway?

“That looks nice.” John averted his gaze from the mop of curls hiding the eyes and looked at the wall to his right side. It was a wall. Being used like a board. Papers, pictures, pinned on it in a messy way.  “Can I?”

“Yes, go on.”

John walked to the wall which looked like it was entirely made of paper. Plannings. Themes. Colour schemes. Pictures of venues. Thoughts on sticky notes. Interconnected threads of different colours. Notes in scribbly handwriting. Mess. But a truly organized mess.

“That’s how I work.” The voice was just by his ear. Even his breath touched his skin. John wondered if there was a cat gene somewhere in the man’s body. Because one moment he was on the chair and the next Sherlock Holmes was standing too close to him.

Maybe it was because of his ongoing fever or something? Or it might have been John’s head imagining it all. But there was a warmth radiating from his body. John had no idea what to do with the sudden closeness.

“Yeah? It’s very interesting”

John took a gulp, listening to the sound of Sherlock’s dressing gown brushing against his coat. He might have closed his eyes. Or maybe he just thought about closing them. Because the sudden realization hit him. Sherlock was never this close to him. There had always been something between them before. A table. The ever resented air with millions of gaseous molecules and invisible ether. A telephone call.

“This is you.” Sherlock leaned forward. His hand pointing towards a tiny, yellow post it note. John H. Watson and Mary Elizabeth Morstan. With an adjective beside both the names.

John H. Watson (Unreadable) (Interesting)

Mary Elizabeth Morstan (annoying) (more annoying)

“That’s very sweet, actually.” John chuckled. “I guess I should be thanking you for finding me interesting.”

“Well the thing is John, I always say the truth.”

“Really?” John glanced sideways to find the eyes looking at him. The colour of them indefinable now. But certainly darker. Pain medication. Of course.

“Yes. All you have to do is ask me the right questions.” Sherlock said slowly. Eyes fixed on him.

The air suddenly went very quiet. The tiny dust particles streaming through the window halted in their places as if waiting. Because Sherlock’s face was just on his left. Just a few inches in the middle. If John turned his head towards the left just a little. And Sherlock a bit towards the right. It was inevitable…  

John held his breath and realized the other breathing in the room was gone too. Both of them waiting. Maybe for the spell to break. Or for someone to make the first move.

“Booooys! I hope you like muffins!”

Neither of them actually heard Mrs Hudson coming up the stairs.

Sherlock had moved from his position as soon as she was on the threshold. Way faster than John could move.

“You really don’t need to pamper my guests, Mrs Hudson.”

“First of all dear, you never have guests. And to be quite honest the thought of you showing hospitality to your guests is as unlikely as me doing exotic dancing with this hip.” She continued to talk while pouring tea.  “Who is your friend, Sherlock?”

“His name is John Watson. He is a doctor.” Sherlock snapped even before John could open his mouth.

“Oh good! How nice is that?” Mrs Hudson clapped her hands. “You must be a doctor with lots of patience. I can see it in your eyes, dear.”

“Are you planning to stay and make small talk?” Sherlock looked at his landlady with a very annoyed face.

“Do you want me to? I can just go down to turn the telly off and… ”

There was a very fast movement and Sherlock was standing in front of the door with his hand extended towards the outside.

“No. Get out. Goodbye.”

John noticed that Mrs Hudson looked only mildly disappointed. Must be quite familiar with the behaviour then.

“Young man, I need to have a word with your mother.” Mrs Hudson murmured but still proceeded to go out of the room.

“You have been saying that for the past five years, Mrs Hudson. Good luck with that.” The swift movement of Sherlock’s leg that closed the door deserved an applause.

“She is nice. Very lovely.”

“Don’t let her know that.” Sherlock replied leaning on the door and with a hint of a smile on his beautiful pink lips.

“Okay. I will keep my mouth shut.”

“You can eat those muffins. She cooks excellent food. Although I rarely eat, I am capable enough to determine her culinary skills.”

John cleared his throat to camouflage the way his stomach had already started to grumble. “Are you feeling up to to eating something?”

“No. Food will be too much right now. But don’t be shy on my account. You did not have lunch and came from the clinic straight to see me. Which was unnecessary but I am not going to comment on that because that might make you angry.”

“I am not even going to ask you how you knew I didn’t have any lunch.” John shook his head.

“Yeah, better that way.”

John felt a little disappointed as Sherlock changed his previous sitting arrangement and proceeded to sit on the couch instead.

The spell was surely broken.

Was Sherlock feeling uneasy because of what could have happened if his landlady didn't barge into the room at that exact moment?

“You really shouldn't stay here any longer. I am sick.” Sherlock groaned.

 _I am ready to kiss you even if you had the chance to give me Ebola_ , John wanted to say.

“I have a strong immune system. I won’t catch anything. Don't worry…” Sherlock Holmes was concerned. John tried to hide his grin in the teacup as Sherlock continued to groan.

“Do you have painkillers? You should take some for the headache.”

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly. “I already did. And excessive painkillers and me are still not a good idea, John.”

“Still?”

“Yes.” Sherlock sighed. “Once upon a time, I used to take recreational drugs as pain medication and then pain medication as recreational drugs. Not sure which started first but both happened. So… it's not a good idea, frankly. I sincerely don't trust myself.”

“Okay.” John didn't know what to say except offering a head massage. But that had the potential to go a very different way and he wasn't sure if he would be able to handle it if it went the way he expected.

Also, no one offers to give someone a massage on the first day they are visiting their place. Or maybe people did? Sherlock’s neck was bent in a lovely way. Borderline erotic. The relaxed collage of the faded shirt and the loosely tied dressing gown just forgotten or ignored to cover the lovely, never ending column of his neck. It was very wrong to be lusting over someone who was weak and sick. John tried to remind himself repeatedly.

At least he was not taking advantage.

“You are thinking. Stop thinking.” Sherlock murmured. Eyes still closed.

“I am eating.” John stuffed the last of the muffin into his mouth.

“You just stuffed the muffin in your mouth. But you were just sitting before that. My eyes might be closed but my ears aren't deaf. You eating and you just sitting do not sound alike, trust me John.”

“You play that violin?” John managed to stop the incoming cough and ask the question. Pointing at the polished violin case which sat beside the window. Maybe Sherlock could feel eyes on him too and if he deduced that directly on John's face. That could be very embarrassing. The truth always was.

“I didn't tell you, right?” Sherlock's voice was very soft suddenly. “Sorry. You are very distracting when you talk. I forget words all the time.”

And again, a line stated matter of factly with the potential of being flirty. John thought he had gotten used to it but apparently that was a very wrong idea.

“When I talk to you it feels like pink champagne wedding cake. It’s so satisfying. ” Sherlock chuckled. His last words ending in a drawl.

John narrowed his eyes. That sounded odd. Sherlock suddenly sounded high. “That's. Nice... I would love to hear you play one day. When you are looking less like death.”

“I am not really that sick. Also I need to apologize to you for not informing you about this state of mine. So I'm going to… Ohh. That's spinning.”

John considered for a tiny split second that Sherlock Holmes might be a little bit of an idiot.

“You haven’t been able to leave your bed for the past two days. Do you think illness miraculously just goes away?” John caught the falling man and started to yell.

“Jesus. Don't yell, John.”

“I am not yelling.” John looked at the man in his arms whose eyes were unfocused. Pupils blown wide.

“I am very sure that you are.” Sherlock lifted one finger, “You are drumming at my ear with every sentence.”

“Oh, I won't if you just sit here and just shut up. And what did you say?” John realized a bit later that Sherlock had stopped making sense.

“I can't shut up. It's tingling. In my hair follicles.”

“Huh?”

Sherlock smiled wide.

“You look very nice in that shirt, John. Matches your eyes, People should always try to make their eyes pretty when they are doing… wedding things.”

John became very sure that his cheeks went fiery red. But Sherlock showed no sign of mocking. Or anything at all. Just continued to look with an unfocused gaze.

“Are you okay, Sherlock?”

“I think I can taste sound and hear colour. Which is not normal is it?” Sherlock blinked. His eyes were trying to focus.

“What did you eat?”

“I think I ate some stolen herbal soothers mistaking them for the antibiotics, hmm. Why do they look the same, John? They tasted like butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

“On your mouth.” Sherlock gripped the collar of John’s shirt before John could even grasp the whole situation. “Let me catch it before it flies away.”

John had no idea what happened after that. How was it possible for Sherlock, who wasn't able to stand just a few minutes ago, to have that amount of muscle strength? Or how John was being pushed into the couch and being kissed. Or eaten. Felt like both.

“Forest brown.” Sherlock murmured in between the kiss. And then his hands were holding John's shirt firmly. Like if he let go John would just fly away. John didn't even realize how his hands started to mirror Sherlock's. The prickly stubble under his palm. Warm, very warm lips trying to taste him like the inside of his mouth held the cure for every illness.

Sherlock Holmes was kissing him. And he was kissing him back. Eagerly and with all his heart. It was beautiful and perfect and very, very wrong.

Sherlock’s lips were chapped. Not a problem at all. But the clear problem was that Sherlock had no idea what he was doing. And that made John, a human with a clear, unaffected by drugs brain, the one who was taking advantage.

Then the lips stopped moving. Like everyone in the room figured out simultaneously what was happening.

“Oh God.” Sherlock lifted his head to look at John’s face. John closed his eyes so that he could be spared from watching the expression of utter disgust.

“I… I… ” John considered that he should just stop holding Sherlock’s face at that moment.

“John.” Sherlock whispered.

“I should go. It’s all my fault.” John’s eyes were burning. Sherlock was almost out of his previous state and seemed very lucid. And that meant he could understand that instead of stopping him while he was delirious, John, like the pathetic human being he was, went along with it.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to.” Words seemed like a struggle.

“John… stop.” Sherlock groaned as John saw him trying to stand and failing.

“I will send your landlady. Sorry Sherlock, I should not even touch you anymore.” And there were tears.

Whatever Sherlock said after that got muffled by his own blood rushing to his ears and his heart pounding like it would stop at any moment. He had no idea what he said to the kind woman, Mrs Hudson. Or how he reached his home. The only answer he could give to Mary’s worrying questions was that it was a bad day at the clinic.

The sea dries everywhere the unlucky man looks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand they kiss...At last...And I hope you expected the angst.  
> Will be waiting for comments as usual. Lots of love (sorry for the delay in replying to comments in the last chapter. I was away getting tanned xD)


	8. I will be the only angel you need.

 

> **_Oh, you're in my veins_ **  
>  **_And I cannot get you out_ **  
>  **_Oh, you're all I taste_ **  
>  **_At night inside of my mouth_ **  
>  **_Oh, you run away_ **  
>  **_'Cause I am not what you found_ **  
>  **_Oh, you're in my veins_ **  
>  **_And I cannot get you out_ **  
> 

 

Sherlock Holmes could never do that to John. Keeping him in the dark.

It was not like he didn’t want to tell John he was sick. It was Irene who asked if he was going to and in the end it was just a matter of trying to prove that John wasn’t as important to him as Irene suspected.

Everything was a haze the first few hours of the sickness. And still his messy brain clung to one constant idea, he had to tell John. He had to reply. Sherlock concluded that brains are annoyingly weird things.

“What are you going to tell him then about the meeting?” He had asked after he felt that he could talk without feeling like the world was spinning as if the London Eye was actually inside his head.

“I will tell _her_ that you have a personal emergency and the next meeting is cancelled and I am going to reschedule it. But you have to promise me one thing. You are not going to tell _him_ anything about your current condition.”

Sherlock had opened his eyes with a struggle and had to close them immediately. The mild light streaming through the windows hurt his eyes. “Well, you have to promise me something in return as well.”

“I am not promising anything without knowing.” Irene had sighed. Probably sensing that it would be something unpleasing for her.

“If he calls you asking about what exactly happened to me. You will have to tell him the truth.”

Irene had remained silent for a second. Sherlock had struggled to open his eyes again to see her frowning. But not disagreeing.

“Okay… And I am not really gonna ask you again what you have gotten yourself into because you will lie through your teeth.” Irene’s lips had curled in a way that it looked like she was in pain.

“You should go now.” Sherlock had put his arm over his eyes. Groaning because that little movement hurt. “My brother is here.”

“Are you sure you will be alright with him? I will be back in a few hours.”

“Yes. Just go.”

Then Mycroft had walked through the door and it didn’t require Sherlock to open his eyes and look at his brother to determine what he looked like at that exact moment. Tidy and in place with his three piece suit and thinning hairline.

“I think that wall is not even a wall anymore.” Mycroft had snorted.

“Thank you for your input. I really didn’t notice. And wasn’t really expecting you either.” Sherlock had replied from his lying position on the couch. He didn’t move to his bedroom even after Irene’s threats.

“As my better half is tending to your clients at this moment, I thought I should do you the courtesy of visiting and inquiring about your health.” And Mycroft sounded exactly like he always did. Like he was negotiating in a meeting.

“How generous.”

“I presume you refuse to go to the hospital.” Mycroft was sitting. His voice closer to the ground but further than his previous position.

“Nice catch, Mycroft.” He had groaned “I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Sherlock had to open his eyes and as he expected, a grin was plastered on Mycroft's face.

“Whatever. Stop smiling like you won a bet. Yes, it is just a mild sickness. No, I still don’t need anyone to pamper me. I am alright by myself.” _Except if a particular man with a warm smile and dexterous hands was willing to give me a head massage, that I would definitely accept._ And again, he was off limits. Unattainable.

Mycroft didn’t stay long after that. Although being siblings, their upbringing had been strict and void of sentiment which didn’t quite help them to bond. Sherlock knew by heart that Mycroft would die to protect his little brother and he would do the same, it was just not in any of their natures to show it externally. Sherlock knew he cared. Mycroft knew it was acknowledged. And that was it.

And when everything around him had calmed down a bit, John came back to his mind again. Not like he went anywhere. It was disturbing. This feeling of someone just slowly spreading their roots in your head and brain, acting like it was a normal thing. Like Sherlock had just the perfect plot to plant a seed and then watch the tree grow and conquer his head.

In his sane mind, Sherlock would never allow it. The most he allowed was the complicated maze of clients and their demands; which cousin of the last groom was allergic to peanuts, which bride couldn’t stand roses. He never wrote them down. Never needed to. And they were allowed to stay in his head until the uncle of the bride had his seventh drink of the day and perhaps the groom had shook his hand emotionally telling him how grateful they all were.

He wished that John would call this once without asking for permission first. Because he did it every time. Asking in a text if Sherlock would be able to answer him if he called. If only, just once he would break the rules.

And of course Sherlock never initiated a call. There were some unsaid rules in an affair, be it of any kind. Emotional, sexual or the weird kind they had. Sherlock had to compromise because John was a very engaged man. With a fiancée standing in between them. Compromise. Yes, that he could do, as long as it was him John was opening up to in the end. Not that woman back in his home.

It got worse that night and despite the dry heaving and excruciating headache, all Sherlock could think about was what John might be thinking after he didn’t get any replies to any of his texts. Because Irene had switched off his phone and confiscated it before leaving.

“What if I need something?” Sherlock had made a weak attempt.

“You won’t. Greg will be here.” Irene had put the glass of water silently on the nightstand. There was a sound outside. Greg walking up the stairs.

“What about my emails?” Sherlock still tried.

“I will take care of that and yes, before you ask me, I don’t trust you enough. I will not stop you when you are ill no more, but till then you are not texting. You can’t even open your eyes properly, for the love of God.”

So there was the possibility of John sending messages being concerned over why suddenly the meeting was cancelled and why Sherlock was silent.

And along with that, the other tiny possibility came to mind inevitably. The one Sherlock didn’t even nurture but it always grew in the back of his mind like a weed. That maybe John tagged along because Sherlock insisted. Maybe no replies from Sherlock and it would be an escape for him. Maybe he could handle that too.

No, he could not.

But Sherlock realized that there was a wrong estimation on his part about what John Watson was capable of.

 

****

 

He was able to send Greg home after showing him proof of his improved condition. It wasn’t a lie. The world was spinning less and the lights didn’t hurt his eyes anymore. Also the fact that Greg looked tired may have encouraged him a bit more.

“Are you sure it will be alright?”

“Can you and Irene and Molly stop repeating to me the same phrase over and over? Yes, I will be. Now go on. Get out of here. Have a hot shower and then rest. I know you were awake last night. I will scream for Mrs Hudson if I need anything. I assure you that I can really scream.”

“Okay.” Greg had stifled a yawn and walked out of the flat. And everything fell silent.

And then John Watson happened to the flat. The most exciting thing this flat had ever experienced.

When he looked up from the floor after a futile attempt to retrieve his dropped spoon, he stopped breathing.

John stood in the threshold of the kitchen. Right out of the clinic. Looking tired and hungry. A little bit disappointed.

John Watson was standing in his flat.

That meant only one thing. He had pressured Irene to tell him the address of the flat. No way Irene would do that involuntarily.

“Yes. I called your assistant. because you didn't care enough to tell me that you had come up with a  gastrointestinal infection and were so sick that you can’t even stand up.” John confirmed verbally to him. “She was very reluctant to give me your address.”

Sherlock never quite understood the phrase ‘a sight for sore eyes’ because he was thirty percent sure that it was because he never got attached to anything in his life so much so that it would awaken an unexplainable feeling in his chest after a long time of no sight. And seventy percent contributed to the common territory of ‘people exaggerate every sodding thing.’

But right at that moment, standing in the dingy kitchen of his five year old flat, which was almost his sanctuary, Sherlock experienced the true meaning of that phrase.

Because he realized, if it was possible, he actually wanted to absorb John with everything he could. Not just his eyes, skin, mouth, hair follicles. Humans didn’t have suctions like leeches did, but if they did, maybe that too. He would just attach himself to John right then it was possible. Which wasn’t probably a rational feeling.

And roughly an hour later, Sherlock was sitting on the couch blinking and trying to digest wholly what actually happened in the room a few minutes ago. It was more than a tornado. The results definitely messier than the debris an actual tornado left behind. John didn’t listen to any of his pleas while storming out of the door.

But there were seven points of interest.

One. John Watson came to visit him, which was actually beyond his expectations.

Two. John looked absolutely smitten and Sherlock had never felt more coveted in his life.

Three. Herbal soothers are very strong. Mrs. Hudson must have a very strong physique which is an oxymoron in itself. But the woman was strong and Sherlock had to give her that.

Four. Only herbal soothers weren't to blame. Nothing was to blame at all. He really _really_ wanted to kiss John after all.

Five. John Watson was kissing him back. That was the only thing he could remember while he felt like a fragile water bubble on the inside.

Six. John was an idiot, and he tasted like muffins.

Seven. There was no need to hold back anymore.

The shaky feeling that started from after John went out of the door had nothing to do with the medication. Sherlock realized that after quite a long time. And it took even a longer time to come up with a strategy to tackle the situation tenderly. Because it was clear that somehow John cultivated the idea in his mind that it was John who came on to Sherlock. The expression in his eyes clearly reflected that John somehow thought that he was taking advantage of Sherlock. While Sherlock was pretty sure that if his brain continued in that state, he would be the one taking more advantage of John.

Being in love was utter stupidity and muddled your brain and made everything slow. Or maybe that was the after effects of the flu medication. But nevertheless it was all annoying.

So it took two hours for Sherlock to come up with an idea.

**I need to talk with you tomorrow. 9 p.m. My office. -SH**

The reply was just a unceremonious ‘Okay.’ Expected.

 

****

 

In the empty office the footsteps sounded loud. And hiding behind the doors was like deja vu. Reminiscent of many childhood memories. But none of them were this exciting.

“Sherlock?”

John’s voice sounded shaky and in doubt. John smelled like seawater the previous night. And when Sherlock walked up and pushed John into the frosted glass door, John didn’t protest. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt like he had never been more alive in his whole life when he tasted John for the first time with a sober mind.

And it was how a first kiss was supposed to be. The smell of John's shampoo in his nose. The taste of John all over his tongue. Every inch of him touching every inch of John.

And then John was melting under his grip and Sherlock felt like he had had a happy death and went to heaven.

“No. No.” John started to squirm under him.

“What?” Sherlock laughed at the nervous voice.

“I can’t do this. I took advantage of you. You were not in your rational mind. I am a horrible person.” John did possess some strength. “Let me go!” Then John was out of Sherlock’s hold and leaning on a chair.

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock knew there would be the chance of something like this happening. But in every version of this scenario in his mind, John didn't flinch away from him.

“That you were not in your sane mind.”

“Look at my eyes, John!” Sherlock screamed. “Do I look like that I am high on herbal soothers now? Unfocused gaze? Inability to stand? Poorly dressed?”

“No. No” John was still shaking his head. Not even looking up.

“John, please.” Sherlock had no idea what he was pleading for.

“I think this should stop here. It hasn't even progressed much.” John said slowly.

“Really John? After all of this?” His heart was running frantically. “After all the late night texts, all the flirting and you being clearly interested in me. You are going to stop now?” Sherlock couldn’t believe his ears.

“I was wrong.” John was clearly shaking.

“John Watson, you were kissing me back last night. That was one of the things I remember vividly.” Sherlock felt like the ground was turning into liquid under him and any minute now he would fall through it. After everything, this could not be happening.

“I said I was wrong.” John said again. Voice calm.

“You start to limp when you get stressed. That psychosomatic limp of yours is pure stress induced. You had a walking stick when you came here with Mary for the first time.” Sherlock had no idea why he was spouting all of these unnecessary facts. Perhaps in the little corner of his heart there was an idea that if he reasoned enough John would change his mind. “You had no walking stick when you came in my flat and kissed me. You had no walking stick the last time we were in this office. You still have no walking stick. But I saw you limping today. See what I am saying?”

John didn’t reply.

“We can have this, John. You are better with this. We are happy like this.” He was pleading. His heart was tearing open and he wished John would see it.

“Are we? With just this?” John smiled. The kind of smile people only do when there was nothing to make them happy anymore.  “Are you saying we are happy with just the way things are? What do we have here? Explain.”

Sherlock didn’t know how to say anything to that. Or maybe he knew but could not be sure if any of them was remotely ready to hear it.

John stared for a long time. His eyes moving over Sherlock’s face. Like he was trying to memorise what was in front of him for the last time. Then John opened his mouth. No words came out. And after a few seconds when they did, it sounded like John was dying underwater.

“See what I am doing?”

“What are you doing?”

“Saving us.”

“Saving us?” Sherlock had to laugh. It would be better if he could cry.

“Yes.” John whispered. Eyes glassy.

“Saving us from what, John?”

“I don’t know!” John shook his head. “I thought I knew but I didn’t. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“I say you were thinking about a way of having fun on the side while you try to patch up the pathetic arrangement you dare call a relationship!” The words which came out were not genuine in the least. Sherlock knew that better than anyone. But it felt like if he would hurt John, it would make things better somehow.

“How can you say that to me?” John sounded like Sherlock had just slapped him on the face. Sherlock definitely did. And it came back twice as strong to his own face.

“Why not John? Isn’t that the truth?” Sherlock was seeing red in front of his eyes. If it was possible, he felt like he could destroy the whole world with his bare hands. Tear apart every colour in it and burn them in a heap until its ashes resembled his charred heart inside. He thought he was over this. He thought he knew what he was bringing upon himself. He was an idiot. A proper example of a lovesick fool.

“Don’t say you are innocent, Sherlock. I did not start this!” John bared his teeth.

“Oh, you are taking that route now?’ Sherlock chuckled. And it felt like his insides would come crawling out through his throat.

“Yes. It was you who seduced me. It was you who started this. It was you who first texted.”  John was breathing like a wounded animal. And deep, deep inside Sherlock knew none of them meant it. But there was no point to that anymore.

“Then yes, John Watson. As you are quite sure as of now that it's entirely my fault. That I was the one responsible for this relationship starting and I should carry the burden of it. Then I am telling you to get out.” And there it was. Him kicking John out twice. He never thought about that happening again.

“I am going out anyway.”

“And as a courtesy I will still be doing this wedding consulting. But any personal contact between us is strictly prohibited. I will only be in a meeting if your fiancée is there.”

The world didn't end right there. But it should have.

“Fair enough.” The reply from John was choked. But Sherlock could not care less. He was in too much pain.

“Now before I do further damage to the whole mess of this. Get out, get out, get out!” He had closed his eyes by that point. And started screaming to camouflage the sound of his heart breaking inside.

When he opened his eyes. The door had shut. John was nowhere in his sight.

 

Maybe it was for the best. But he would feel better if he just could die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internet decided to be a menace yesterday. So I missed my usual posting schedule. But that's just being late by one day. I am sure you guys love me enough to forget that :p.  
> Also, the chapter......Oops...


	9. You will leave life

 

 

 

> **_“Wasn't it better if they kept this desire to_ **  
>  **_see each other hidden within them,_ **  
>  **_and never actually got together?_ **  
>  **_That way, there would always be_ **  
>  **_hope in their hearts. That hope would be_ **  
>  **_a small, yet vital flame that warmed them_ **  
>  **_to their core-- a tiny flame to cup one's_ **  
>  **_hands around and protect from the wind,_ **  
>  **_a flame that the violent winds of reality might easily extinguish.”_**
> 
> **_-Haruki Murakami_ **

 

 

 

Sherlock was in pain. Yes, the feeling he was having was definitely categorizable as pain. And for the first time it was the kind of pain he had never experienced before.

The pain when you cut your hand and blood runs through your veins in the joy of release, that’s a dull kind of pain. But it goes away eventually.

The pain in which people are just being awfully irritating, that too goes away. Because people never stay.

But this one was different. It was hard to make someone go away when they were everywhere by not being anywhere. It was hard to unlove after falling so hard, so fast.

Irene had asked him several times about the sudden urge to go back to the office a few days ago at a weird hour and his sour mood from after that. Every time Sherlock just gave her a pointed look to make it clear that he had zero interest in discussing it. It worked temporarily. But his sour mood could not be helped. Neither could the constant replay of everything John said and did, and did not do.

“Do you want some tea, coffee, anything?” Molly looked scared. Like someone sent her to deal with a wounded tiger.

Sherlock sighed and clicked his pen close.

“What did your wife, my over-caring assistant tell you to do?”

“Um...” She suddenly became busy with not making eye contact.

“I know she sent you for something after her several failed attempts of getting information from me.”

“She told me to take you out for lunch.” Molly smiled shyly.

“I am not going anywhere. I am feeling perfectly well in my flat.”

“You need some air.”

“There are windows in this flat for that. And tell your wife when she comes back from the florists that if she pays less attention to what’s going on with me, an adult, a responsible person, and more attention to the dozens of weddings at hand we may actually get things done.” Sherlock snapped.

It was getting ridiculous. It was hard to live with the stupidity of being heartbroken. Stupid, idiotic feelings. And on top of that, all that pity, pity and more pity piling over his head.

Molly bit her lip. She was physically stopping herself from saying something which Sherlock might find a bit inappropriate. Molly hesitated for some seconds. Tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. Then opened her mouth. Proving Sherlock’s guess to be true.

“Sherlock. I also have something else to say.”

“What is it?”

Molly took a deep breath. “I saw him that night.”

In an instant Sherlock knew who she was talking about. He was the opposite of an idiot.

“Who are you talking about, Molly?”

Of course he had to ask. No one gives themselves away that easily.

“Dr. Watson. Leaving your office alone. When you were supposed to be alone in there. You wanted the office to yourself. I was just coming back from the programming class I take twice a week and I needed to ask about a book at the old book shop. There’s a shortcut that bypasses the office.” Her smile looked painful. Like she could actually feel what Sherlock was feeling at the mention of that night. Maybe it showed on Sherlock’s face. Not surprising if it did. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell her anything. I wouldn’t.”

“Thank you.” His throat was so dry.

“Want to go to the lunch we were talking about? There is a new little place nearby that makes really delicious sandwiches. You might like them, although eating is not really your thing.”

It would help if he could scream. Or do anything. Anything that could help. But someone who was too eager about what was going on in his personal life was not something that could help him. At all.

Molly’s expression changed. “Oh. You are worried that I will ask you questions about the state of your relationship with him. I… I won’t. I promise. It’s just you’ve been sitting here the whole day with a face like that. Irene can’t handle these things easily. She usually just screams. Not just in this case. Everything starting from grocery shopping to serious matters. I am the rational one, of course.” She giggled. “So let’s just go out. We can walk to this place?”

“Okay.” That did not sound like a bad idea.

****

“I am going to tell you something. Some ramblings with a side dish of unsolicited opinions.”

Molly took a big sip of her smoothie and cleared her throat. “This might come as an unwelcome opinion. But that’s not my intention. I know we are not that close. But I don’t want you to feel awkward. If you do. Just tell me.”

“I consider you a friend, Molly.”

“As you say.” Molly laughed. “But anyway. Hear me out.”

“Go on.” Sherlock sighed as the waitress filled up his cup of coffee again and threw a smile which may have intended to be flirtatious.

Molly started talking. “When I was in high school, my mother wanted me to be a doctor. And I was so sure that I was going to be one. I worshipped the white apron she gifted me at my birthday. But one day I was at my cousin’s. And he was showing me a program he did for a school project. Some simple lines of coding. Basic stuff. But I became fascinated. And I decided that I would be a freelance programmer. It was Christmas dinner. And I made one of the biggest decisions of my life just after seeing a program for changing celsius to fahrenheit.” She shook her head. Reliving the memory.

“My mum hates me. Thinks I wasted my life. First because I did not become a doctor. Second because I married a woman. My father is still proud of me. My best friend from school pities me because it’s not glamorous enough. But at least it’s making me happy right now. Just as I am. Doing my actual job. Helping you guys on the side. Staying married to a gorgeous woman.”

“What is your point, Molly?” Sherlock blinked.

Molly held the smoothie glass in hand then started swirling the straw inside it. Looking distant.

“Sometimes you should stop worrying about the consequences. Just close your eyes and take the leap. Because in my experience, life has a weird way of working out in the end. And I always thought the worst. That I would never earn enough. That I would realize what I have done is just stupid. That I will die alone with just my cat Toby to cry for me.”

“This is not that easy, Molly. This is not a career choice.” Sherlock looked at his fingers. Didn’t touch have memories? It did. John was still on his fingertips.

“I know.” Molly chuckled. “We are talking about infidelity. An affair with a married man, well an engaged man, technically. And he is your client. And that is so surreal anyway. But you know, sitting behind that desk of the reception makes you very observant sometimes. I can see their body language. And that night while coming out of your office, he was crying, Sherlock. He didn’t notice me. But I saw his face.”

If Sherlock was not already dead before, he was then.

Molly smiled again. And her voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else. From all around Sherlock. “He loves you. I know it when I see it. Isn’t that enough sometimes?”

****

John was definitely not okay. Far from okay. Far from even existing like a normal human being should. It was like an earthquake had happened inside him and he was still buried under all the debris waiting to be rescued. There was a chance that he might die alone. And that seemed more likely than the chance of being rescued. Funniest thing in the whole business was it was him who summoned the earthquake in the first place.

It had been only two days since he did the most idiotic thing he could ever imagine.

In other words, John Watson was suffering. And there was nothing to find consolation in. Not in anyone. Not in himself. Definitely not in himself. He was an idiot. A walking disaster.

So when one day after his shift, Sarah called John in her office, John thought the worst. Maybe he was getting fired? Maybe the one place where his dignity was intact was getting compromised in the end. Maybe John was jinxed from the moment of being born. And there was no way he would get to live as a full, functional human being once in his life. Maybe happiness was just a concept for him. And the only way to experience it was seeing other people be happy. It was similar to standing on a platform when high speed trains passed in front of his eyes. Everyone happy and content inside. And outside it was him all alone, surrounded by everything he did and the consequences it brought him. There was a little flag over each heap of debris. _“Joined the army”, “got engaged”, “wanted something unattainable”._

Nothing like that happened. Sarah just smiled at him, asked about how he was doing and how his patients were. Then advised him to take some days off.

And until the time Sarah pointed out how inattentive and tired John had been in the past two days, John realized he had simply not acknowledged what his body was doing. And how unfit that made him.

“Maybe take a short vacation with your fiancée. Let some steam out. You work hard, John. And a wedding is stressful. And you are really not looking good. Seems like you are in dire need of a break.”

John tried to not come out as too weak. Because who gets stressed over a wedding? Only weak people did.

“I am having no problems. I can still work as I was. We have someone to look over the wedding.”

“Still, it’s stressful. Trust me. I’ve had two.” She had patted John on his hand and walked away.

So John found himself alone and with time on his hands and no idea of what to do with it.

****

“The assistant called me. Our next meeting is scheduled eight days from now. I will be back from the seminar by then.” Mary was brushing her hair.

“Oh okay.” John pretended to be immersed in the histories of Roman emperors. And it was pitiful how much everything swirled inside him just at the possibility of seeing Sherlock again, albeit how fucked up everything was.

God, he wanted to see Sherlock. He wanted to see him so bad that it was a constant burn inside. He wanted to fall to his knees and apologize, hold his hands and kiss him over and over until he felt numb. To clutch Sherlock closer until they both melted into one. To breathe him in and out and wear him all over his skin.

He never told Mary anything about his time off at the clinic. Mary stopped having interest in his work a long time ago. So many sleepless nights in the early stage of their relationship would be spent just sharing experiences back and forth. How this young boy in her library would have tonnes of questions everyday. How Mrs Evermann, a regular patient of John's, would bring him a saffron bun every time she visited.

But could he still do that to Mary? Just walk out of this just because the spark was lost? How did people do that? How did people get the courage? How did people ignore the consequences? He once wanted her, didn't he?

For three days he woke up as he would. Made up some busy schedules to convince Mary. And then Regent’s Park seemed like a great escape. Where John could be just by himself and miserable. Bikers would pass by him. Couples holding hands. And something would itch inside.

His phone never chimed with a text alert from the number he wanted to see. He hoped for it to happen even after everything he did. Three times he tried to wipe the entire inbox full of the texts from Sherlock.

**_Did you know people genuinely like food so much that the bride asked me if there was any way that her whole wedding could be themed around food? -SH_ **

**_I can’t fall asleep. Just keep texting me John. -SH_ **

**_No offense, John. But you are a lot more attractive when you are not trying to diminish yourself continuously. -SH_ **

**_This groom chose a blue suit. It didn’t match his eye colour. But it did yours. -SH_ **

**_Tell me more about your patients. How is that man with the incurable cold?-SH_ **

With each word it felt like a hand slashed his insides mercilessly. And John knew that he deserved it all. Because he was being a coward. Because he tolerated all the wrong people. Because of making all the wrong choices in his life. The relationship with Mary stopped making any sense quite some time ago. And he thought that it could still work. Because all he cared about was avoiding the frightening loneliness.

He knew that the marriage would not work out in the end. Because there was mostly nothing left. And the little bits left would burn out soon. Maybe five more years at most. And then no one could stop him from becoming more miserable and lonely.

****

“Is that your fourth glass, mate?” The bartender asked politely. “Are you sure you should have that one?”

The soft lights in the ceiling were already a little closer than they were an hour ago. The attractive brunette who was sitting beside him and talking about the stress at her law firm while constantly drawing attention to her slender neck, excused herself long ago to join the blond man with the beer bottle. She was looking for something John couldn’t give. Maybe never in this lifetime. To no one. John Watson was not the person or place to find warmth, courage or solace. A nest made up of broken sticks glued together can fool the other birds, but not the ones who actually try to make a life in it.

And his leg was killing him.

John looked at the glass full of amber liquid in front of him. The whole world concentrated in one glass of alcohol. It was unbelievable.

Everything started to go blurry after the last glass. But one thing was frighteningly clear. He was so in love with Sherlock Holmes that it was almost bad. It burnt inside. He was so in love that he knew he had never loved anyone like that. He thought he could never love anyone like that. The moment Sherlock acknowledged him, gave him attention which John had no idea he was craving, John was deep, deep in the pit from where no one crawls out.

And then Sherlock’s twisted face in agony was burned inside his retinas. The pain that John induced. Teary eyed and rejected Sherlock. All of it John’s fault. Only his.

“What’s your name?” He asked the bartender. Who was tall enough to compete with the Eiffel tower.

“Jerry.” He replied pouring two shots for the couple at his right side. The couple looked so happy. So in love. So free and out. John envied them. John envied Jerry. John envied the polished wood on which his glass was sitting atop.

“Jerry. I broke someone’s heart. And I am getting married to someone I don’t even love. How fucked up is my life right now?” The lights in the bar were definitely moving. It felt nice. Relaxing. Like floating.

“I’d say from a scale of one to twelve, you are definitely a hundred, mate.” The bartender, Jerry, chuckled. “Are you sure you can go home alone? We could call you a cab.”

“No, I will walk.” John replied, putting money on the table.

“Do you live nearby?” Jerry looked really concerned. Did he know anything about John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers? Four drinks were nothing. He might have lost his touch but if he wanted he could drown his sorrows in all the drinks of this bar. He would drown in alcohol for real.

“Maybe.” He took a deep breath.

“Are you sure you are going to be okay?” That was a good man there. Good person. John knew a better man.

“Oh yes, absolutely.” He wanted to puke and it would be very helpful if a car ran him over... But Jerry didn’t need to know that. Also he had no idea where he was. He might have remembered while he was still sober as to why he chose this bar. But now, nothing. Just blank.

****

John started walking without thinking. Just focusing his eyes on the bricks of the sidewalk. It looked familiar. He must have been going in the right direction. He felt proud of himself. He was John Watson. He was nicknamed ‘Hand of God’ in between friends. Because he could talk people out of their pain. No one talked him out of his.

“John. Is that you?”

The peaceful and slightly struggling walking routine came to a halt because of an old lady with a very smiling and surprised face who opened the door. John didn’t know any woman who looked like that living in his apartment. She looked familiar. But John had no idea who she was. Was he supposed to know?

“Yes, that’s my name. John. I am John.” He tried to stand straight. Gravity had become a problem the past few minutes.

“Of course you are. Good to see you again. He is upstairs.” She was smiling too much.

Again? What was she talking about. John lived there. And he? Who was in his flat?

But his flat never had stairs like this. Nor a lamp hanging in the middle of the ceiling. His walking stick made an awkward sound every time John was putting pressure on it. Or maybe he was just drunk and couldn’t remember what it looked like. Typical.

At least the door was open. But he had a vague idea of locking it before going out. And the door looked so different. Why was there light inside the room? Why was a man in a red dressing gown standing in the middle of the room surrounded by the soft lights of the lamp? John never had a lamp like that. Nor a man like that.

And why was the man looking like Sherlock Holmes of all people? The curls. He would know that heap of curls anywhere.

“What are you doing in my house?” He intended to shout. But it came out as more of a slurred statement. Damn his tongue. Even his tongue had abandoned him.

The man slowly turned towards him. And his mouth was hanging open. Or maybe he was breathing. Humans breathed through their mouths. Or hands maybe? He forgot which one. It was difficult.

“Sherlock. What are you doing in my house? You are trespassing.” Sherlock Holmes needed to know that it was John’s house. He could not just come in there uninvited.

“John. How drunk are you?” Sherlock had closed his mouth. How was he breathing then? Hmm. Interesting.

“Yes, my name is John. Why is everyone trying to remind me?” He had to say it. Because everyone was suddenly calling his name too much. It was not comfortable. It was annoying. “And I am not drunk. I just had too much alcohol.” There was a difference. Sherlock ought to know it.

“John, you are sure that this is your flat?”

And there it was. Another level of doubt. As if John already didn’t have his fair share of doubt in his pathetic life. Of course it was his flat. No idea why it looked so different. But it was definitely his.

Sherlock was standing arms-crossed in the middle of the room looking like a piece of art, a marble carved model. Like some Michelangelo stuff. Legit shit. And John came to a conclusion: Sherlock Holmes was an idiot and trespasser. He was too good for John. He was the forbidden apple of Eden. He was the special edition action figure he kept in mint condition. But that was nothing. He could take a knife and put it right through John’s heart and John would still love him madly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First let me apologize for being late. Then let me tell you why. I had an UTI. Not the mild kind. The kind where I had to taken to ER at 3.30 am and then I screamed in pain for 4 hours and it took 5 painkillers to stop me. That kind. I am still on antibiotics and lost most of my appetite but I am doing better than before. I have been online but didn't feel good enough to look at the chapters and do the final reading I do before posting. So that's why late. I had an opportunity to post yesterday but then again I had an exam. So I am here now. With a chapter 2 days late. But today is a special day innit? The boys canonically meets this day. So have e new chapter on this day. That's the least I can do considering the fact that I didn't do anything on tumblr except reblogging old posts.  
> Hope you guys are doing better than me. Thanks for all the screams in the last chapter. I enjoyed them a lot. Will wait for your comments on this one. Lots of love <3


	10. Even more beautiful than you entered it

 

 

 

 

> **_I had a dream about you._  **  
>  **_We were in the gold room where everyone_  **  
>  **_finally gets what they want, so I said_  **  
>  **_What do you_ _want, sweetheart?_  **  
>  **_and you said_  **  
>  **_Kiss me._  **  
>  **_Here I am_ _leaving you clues._**  
>  **_I am singing now while Rome_  ** ** _burns._ **  
>  **_We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,_  **  
>  **_my silent night, just mash your lips against me._  **  
>  **_We are all going forward._  **  
>  **_None of us are going back._ **
> 
> **_-Richard Siken_ **

 

In a wonderful turn of events, John Watson was standing at the threshold of the room. Looking exhausted, lonely and drunk. And claiming the flat as his own.

Sherlock did not know what to do with all that. He wanted to laugh. Wanted to kick John out of the flat. Wanted to touch John to make sure that he still existed.

He was so sure that the next time he would meet John would have no impact on him. Professional environment. He would not think about John. He would not look at his eyes again. He would not want to touch John in any way. He would not want him anywhere near him unless the buffer was there. Mary.

Funny how none of that happened. He told himself that he wasn’t kicking John out because John was drunk and was not in any condition to go out alone. But inside the very core of his heart he knew he was not fooling anyone. Against his better judgements, Sherlock was allowing himself to be weak again.

“Yes, I am absolutely sure this is my flat.”

John’s shirt was crumpled. A small grease stain just under the collar. He looked like the world suddenly forgot about him.

Sherlock sighed. And put his hands over his face. If only there was someone to tell him what to do. Or an instruction manual. How to stop things from happening and feeling things.

“Hey Sh-Sherlock. Why aren’t you saying anything?”

John was still in the threshold. Leaning on the doorframe. Crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to look like an authoritative figure. Still drunk out of his mind. Sherlock decided to play along.

“If you are sure, what can I say, John? Are you going to let me stay for the night?”

That made John laugh. He started to laugh loudly and that escalated so quickly to a roll of mad laughter that Sherlock almost expected John to start puking. But instead John walked inside the room with slightly uncoordinated steps. And stood in front of Sherlock. Lifting a finger and poking Sherlock in the chest.

“Don’t be silly, Sherlock.” John shrugged. “You can stay as long as you want. You know why? Because I love you.”

Sherlock froze in his place. Might have been just the drinks. But in reality, alcohol always brought out one’s subconscious thoughts. John would never know, maybe. But Sherlock could not decide if knowing it now was better. Or if it was better when he didn’t know at all.

“Thank you, John.” He blinked.

“You are welcome.” John pursed his lips. “And you are my guest so you can take the bed. I am going to sleep… there.” He pointed at the couch.

There was no point in arguing with a drunk man. Sherlock watched as John laid on the couch, clutching the cushions.

“This is good. Hmm.” John was mumbling when Sherlock came back with the blanket. As Sherlock spread the blanket over him, a sigh of relief escaped John’s mouth.

He patted John on the arm and attempted to stand up. “Sleep, John.”

John’s eyes fixated on Sherlock. Then a cold hand caught Sherlock’s wrist. John opened his mouth several times. Like he was searching for words in his alcohol riddled mind. After an attempt of several seconds, he whispered.

“I can’t remember much. But I feel like I did something awful to you, Sherlock.” John’s eyes were wide. His pupils so dark that Sherlock couldn’t even see the blue. “Sherlock. Did I hurt you?”

Sherlock bit his lip. At least John wouldn't remember much.

“No John. I hurt myself. Goodnight.”

****

A groan came from the living room just after the kettle clicked off.

“If you are feeling like eating anything solid, Mrs Hudson is more than happy to oblige. But I will say electrolytes would actually be a better start.” Sherlock told the man sitting on the couch who was slowly looking around him with wide eyes. Sunlight crawled through the slither of the curtains, illuminating John’s hair like golden threads.

_How would it feel to wake up beside that man every morning and see that hair shine like that and face soft and docile?_

_How would a lifetime of that feel like?_

Sherlock gulped. He could not really sleep the previous night.

“Please tell me I did not do anything stupid. Except coming to your flat drunk, of course. That one is obvious.” John groaned into his palm.

“Why would you?” Sherlock asked, sipping his cup of tea. Did that sound a bit cold? Didn’t matter.

“What time is it?”

“Half past twelve.”

John sighed.

“I have no idea why I came here, Sherlock. I am feeling like an utter idiot.”

“You spent a night here. Would that affect anything?”

John looked up. Eyes hurt for a moment. Then he looked down at his feet. “She is in Paris for a few nights. A work  seminar.”

A thousand words came to the tip of Sherlock’s tongue. But none of them spilled externally.

“You should have a shower. You look awful.”

John blinked for several seconds. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

Sherlock turned around not waiting for John’s reply. He put down the cup of tea and held the countertop with both his hands until the footsteps stopped inside the bathroom and the door closed. His hand had almost gone numb by that point. And he didn’t even realize that he was holding his breath.

It was not easy to be over John Watson. Not even when it was the better option of the two equally devastating ones. Close proximity and John Watson alone in his flat. Sherlock could not even think of anything else beyond that.

He was supposed to be rational. He was supposed to be over it.

****

John closed the bathroom door slowly, sat on the floor and came to the conclusion that he had never done anything more embarrassing in his whole life.

He could not even blame himself. Because he knew that he had always wanted to come back to Sherlock. He thought about standing opposite the flat or his office. Maybe just to see his face. Maybe just to get insulted. So when his inhibitions were down, his subconscious thought that it was the best option to just bring him closer to Sherlock. Because that was exactly what he craved for.

Either his subconscious was an idiot. Or a genius. But whatever it was, it had put John in a questionable situation.

John turned on the shower and let the cold water fall down.

It was beyond satisfying to see Sherlock again. Bordering on dangerous.

****

Obviously it had been too long since a man walked around his flat half naked. Water dripping, flushed skin. Hair spiked.

Obviously he had never seen John Watson like that.

And obviously in those cases, those men would have usually shared his bed the previous night. John Watson didn’t. How would it be if John did though?

Sherlock hoped that he was discreet enough to follow John with his eyes when John walked towards him in the kitchen.

“Er… My shirt got a bit wet. It will just take a couple of minutes to dry. Is it alright if I use this for a while?” John was asking hesitantly. And for a moment Sherlock had no idea what John was talking about. Because he might have been busy looking at John’s mouth. Because it was a nice idea to think about kissing John after he came out of the shower. John would feel softer and more delicious. If it was possible.

But he was not allowed to kiss John, was he? Or maybe John was not allowed to kiss him? Who stopped whom again?

Then it struck him. John was wearing his dressing gown. Sherlock’s second favourite one. Which obviously got promoted to his favourite one, now that John was wearing it.

“It’s fine.”

“Okay.” John said shaking his head. Then showed no sign of retreating back to the living room. Away from Sherlock. As if he was waiting for Sherlock to say anything. Or do. Maybe waiting for Sherlock to start insulting him. Or snap at him at last.

John was certainly unaware of the fact that in reality Sherlock was having an epiphany and  was ninety nine percent sure he was going to regret every action he was going to do after that moment. But that remaining one percent was worth everything else.

“This is a bad idea.” Sherlock murmured putting the cup slowly in the sink. He was pretty sure the idea was worse than it sounded in his head.

“I know. I am terribly sorry for everything. I… I am gonna put on the shirt. It’s wearable. I will just...”

“Not that one. I am talking about what’s going to happen. And it is a very bad idea.”

Maybe John understood what Sherlock was going to do. Maybe he didn’t. But he really didn’t protest much when Sherlock cornered him against the kitchen counter. Just his eyes went a bit wide. His mouth opened a little.

Sherlock let all his doubts evaporate and kissed John.

And boy he was thirsty. Terribly so. It was a cliche saying that everyone had a taste. How could they? Humans were not sweets. Under mints and mouthwashes everyone was supposed to be the same.

Or maybe Sherlock actively did not look for that taste before John Watson. Because now he was sure John had a flavour. And he got hooked to it a few weeks ago.

“Aren’t you going to stop me?” He asked a panting John after breaking the kiss.

“I am. I should.”

_Liar._

“You aren’t trying.” Sherlock quirked his eyebrows

John held the gaze for some moments and then sighed. Sherlock watched as he took a gulp.

“I am sorry.” John murmured.

“Stop being sorry. I am not.”

John chuckled nervously at that. Then looked into Sherlock’s eyes.

“The first time I saw your face, it was in a magazine you know...”

John’s voice was hushed. Like if he spoke any louder, Sherlock would get hurt by just the sound.

One side of John’s mouth turned upwards. Sherlock never saw anyone ever look at him like that. He had no idea that so much adoration could be expressed through eyes. How lucky was he?

“You looked like someone untouchable.” John raised his hand. A thumb ghosted over Sherlock’s cheek.

He could die like this and he would not regret it.

“Yes, I was appalled with the picture. But the interview was surprisingly good.”

“You're still untouchable, Sherlock. You belong somewhere else. Somewhere I should not even dare to look at. I never will understand what you see in me.”

John was touching him now. Who knew that a simple touch could be so overwhelming? How it could make him want to cry and laugh and feel a thousand things at the same time? Blood flowed through his veins. Sensations ran through nerves and all of them concentrated on one point. Where John was still touching him.

“I see you.” The words came out so breathily that John would almost miss them.

“Me?” John smiled. “A pathetic, ex military doctor with a psychosomatic limp stuck in a relationship which is losing potential everyday. Sherlock, half of London will fall to their knees if you just looked at them twice. What am I?”

Who cares about that. He wouldn’t care if half of the world fell on their knees.

“You are the other half of London, John. The only one I care about.”

“You should not. This will hurt.”

Sherlock laughed. “Will? Future tense? This hurts already. It hurt everyday after that day. But you are still here and still standing in front of me and I don’t want to scream. You are still here from last night and I don’t even know what we are anymore and I still haven’t kicked you out. What does that tell you, John?”

“That you are making a mistake. I am not the one you deserve. That you should kick me out right now.” Sherlock could clearly feel the trembling in John’s voice.

“I won’t.”

John dropped his hand. Sherlock’s stomach sank down at the sudden loss of contact.

“Just say it, Sherlock. It’s still not too late.” John shook his head like he had lost all of his hope. “I will go out of that door and will never set foot here again in my life. I will deal with everything else that happens after that and I will not let that affect you.”

“And what if I don’t let you go?”

“Then I will let happen whatever is intended to happen.”

“Like you will get rid of your walking stick because you won’t be in stress anymore. Because I will make you forget everything else. Or I will feel happier if you are with me. Things like that?”

“You know you just skipped over a lot.” John pursed his lips.

“I forbid you to go. Stay with me.” Sherlock was sure the quiver in his voice did not dilute the intensity of his words.

_Stay with me. At least for now. As long as this whole house of cards stands still. As long as we both forget what is outside._

The air went very still. Through some unknown magic even the chatter outside slowed down. Or maybe it was just in Sherlock’s mind. Maybe his brain decided that everything except John’s breathing was just white noise. Unnecessary.

A hand held his neck so tight that it almost hurt. But that made things better. That made his brain understand that he was still alive and John’s lips were on his. Kissing him like he was apologizing for every word he had ever said.

It was like none of the other times. None of them high. None of them unwilling. Another hand encircled Sherlock's waist making him press into John.

Sherlock’s throat dried. The cacophony of his brain cells concentrated on one point making the nerve endings sizzle. There was no way of having rational thoughts anymore.

John inside his mouth. John's body pressed with his. John kissing so hard that it had the potential of leaving one of them injured. John’s teeth almost sank into his bottom lip reminding Sherlock that it was not a dream after all.

John broke the kiss. Pressed his lips against Sherlock’s one more time before really breaking it. His eyes fixed for a second on Sherlock's lips. Then on Sherlock’s eyes. Pleading silently.

Sherlock saw a thousand things in the reflection of the dark pool of pupils. It was just the start. They could tell those things to each other later.

“John.” His voice sounded like he hadn't used it for the past hundred years. Was he even alive before he met John? Was every second even worth anything until this man filled the hole inside of him?

_I was so scared to feel. I was so scared to let myself allow._

 

“Whatever you want, Sherlock.”

He wanted a lot. He wanted everything. He wanted to want the things he never wanted to want. It was a huge turmoil, wanting too much.

“I want a lot.” He whispered into John’s ear. And felt John’s breath quickening.

His hands shook so much that it took longer than usual to untie the dressing gown.

Sherlock stared as the marvel of John’s skin was revealed in a wide strip. He wanted to pay attention to the tiny scars. The patch of blonde hair on John’s chest. The apparently gnarly (according to John) piece of skin that was still invisible to him. But he could do it later. He could hope for a later.

Sherlock kneeled and pressed an open mouthed kiss to John’s belly. On a straight scar just above the waist of his trousers.

“But for now, I could focus on just a few.”

He wasn’t in love with John too, was he? That would be childish.

This was just an affair. A way of working out the unavoidable attraction and being an adult while doing it. No one would get hurt. Everyone would benefit. That was it. That was exactly it.

Or maybe it was destructive. Maybe it would open a whole mess of insatiable yearning. But who cared. Did anyone ever care?

He kneeled and pressed his nose into the tenting fabric of John’s trousers. Hot and damp and inviting.

Sherlock breathed in. Deep inside his lungs. John was aroused for him. John wanted him. His body needed to believe that. Each molecule needed to understand that no matter what. In this house, inside the walls of this flat, John was his. For now. For a very limited period.

It was fine. It was all fine. It was just indulging in the transport. Because he would be lying if he said he wasn’t getting feverish at just the clothed sight of John.

A soft whimper came out of John’s mouth as Sherlock pulled the trousers down.

“Are you sure about this?” John asked in a vehement voice.

Sherlock looked up to discover John biting his lip.

“Yes.” He replied with a glare.

He wouldn’t think about Mary. He wouldn’t think about how it was him who was arranging their wedding. He wouldn’t think about how John would get married anyway. It was on him. Totally on him. He led John on. He had nothing to complain about.

The first kiss on the head of John’s cock earned Sherlock a shaky breath. Followed by a moan when Sherlock tasted the underside, licking slowly like a cat. It had never been difficult to determine what his partners wanted in the past. What touch made them explode or what movement kept them longing for more.

Despite how unreadable Sherlock found John sometimes, it wasn’t hard to understand what pleased John. Or what had the potential to make John yearning for more.

John’s hand gripped his hair slowly, very slowly and softly as Sherlock took the head of John’s penis in his mouth. John’s breath hitched. And it was a marvelous sound.

“God, Sherlock!”

John was shaking and from the corner of his eyes Sherlock could see his fingers gripping the table so hard that John’s knuckles turned white.

Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed harder through his nose, tasting John inside his mouth and erasing everything else around him. The only important thing was that John was chanting his name and his tone was slowly fading. The hand on Sherlock’s hair grew tighter.

His knees started to hurt on the floor. Because knees were apparently not made to kneel for a prolonged period. Especially with just thin pyjamas between it and the floor. It wouldn’t even matter if it was made of pins. Because he could feel John swelling up in his mouth and that was paramount.

“Sherlock… I’m.”

Yes, John was going to come of course. It wasn’t necessary to announce that. Sherlock could feel the way John started to go tense and how his nails almost dug into his scalp.

John started to struggle under his hand. Like he was not supposed to come inside Sherlock’s mouth.

The quick thought which came to Sherlock’s mind was a bit infuriating at first. Maybe John suddenly changed his mind. Maybe he was regretting the whole arrangement.

But then the thought dissolved into a more plausible one… maybe John wasn’t used to it.

Maybe that’s why John’s reactions were so muted throughout Sherlock giving him fellatio. Did she hate it when John cried out in ecstasy?

At that moment, Sherlock made a promise to himself.

Everything John never got to do. Everything John was never allowed to do. Sherlock decided he would try his best to give each one of those things to John. One day he would make John cry in pleasure. Make him scream so much that half of London would hear it. One day he would take John apart and make him forget every lover John ever had.

But that would be a long list. And a lot of it would never be fulfilled.

John was not his to keep.

But still Sherlock could do a lot. And that could start with John coming into Sherlock’s mouth.

****

John was sure that he blacked out for several seconds. And went to another plane of existence. Or maybe Sherlock was another universe and he just got sucked into it. Literally. Because the last thing he could remember was Sherlock suckling on his oversensitive cock and he himself hating and loving that with the same intensity. When he came to his senses, Sherlock’s face was buried in his stomach and he was breathing like he ran a marathon.

“Come here.” He murmured at the heap of limbs at his feet. And Sherlock looked up at him. Eyes moist and lips red and looking so devastatingly beautiful that John’s eyes burned.

This man deserved a loving relationship with someone who had no complications. Who could have him and show him to the outside world like the beautifully talented soul he was.

No way Sherlock Holmes was meant to be treated like a secret lover. And John hated himself for that.

Sherlock stood up, almost losing balance in the process.

“I got you.” He held Sherlock closer as he buried his face in John’s shoulder. And John could feel his painfully hard erection.

He blindly put a hand between them in search of Sherlock’s drawstring. But a bony hand batted his hand away.

John’s brows furrowed. “You don’t want my hand?”

“Not this time.” The hoarse voice said in his ears. Sounding desperate.

“Go on then... I said whatever you want.”

That made Sherlock shiver. And John felt the slow movement of his body.

Slowly, and then faster, Sherlock was rutting against John. Hand inside his own pyjamas.

It shouldn’t have felt this excruciatingly hot while both of them were still mostly clothed. But it did.

With each passing second Sherlock’s movement got faster. His hot and heavy cock seeking friction on John’s skin. And John could swear to God that he was getting harder again. Sherlock’s breathing got rougher and the movement of his pelvis got more desperate. John almost wanted to forget Sherlock’s protest and take Sherlock in his hand. Feel the pulsing , the hot skin on his palm and feel as Sherlock comes in his hand, broken and a mess.

John had no idea when he closed his eyes. So when Sherlock’s warm lips touched his, he got genuinely surprised. But only for a moment. Then he returned the kiss messily. It sure lacked aesthetic qualities and if Sherlock was in clear mind, John was sure that he would complain.

But Sherlock was not in his clear mind. He was kissing him blindly, disoriented. Still seeking friction like a madman. Aching for release.

“John.” A breathy whisper escaped Sherlock’s throat. Resulting John’s every pore to rise in goosebumps.

John never knew someone just calling his name could feel like that. So utterly thrilling. Or maybe it was just the illegal nature of the whole premise. But it was fervid and arousing nonetheless.

A moan formed in Sherlock’s throat as John kissed him back. Tasting himself in that mouth. That should not have been that sensual either. It wasn’t that John had never did any of these things before.

Sherlock’s mouth had gone slack. John nibbled at the full lower lip earning more moans in return. Sherlock’s eyes were squeezed shut. His hands trapping John against the table. The edge of the table hurt John’s back. But the man draped over him and rutting himself towards rapture more than compensated for it.

“Come for me, love.” John whispered, kissing the exposed column of throat in front of him.

For a moment Sherlock’s head bent down and his eyes opened. Revealing a pool of darkness. The icy nameless colour almost lost in it. Then the eyes closed and Sherlock thrashed his face into John’s shoulder again. Moaning and shaking so vigorously that John feared if he didn’t hold him tight, Sherlock would just fall down.

Sherlock went still in John’s arms.  John never hated clothes in his entire life.

“John.” Muffled whispers were the only sounds in the room beside the ragged beathings. The sun had went down leaving just a dying aura behind. John could feel their escalated heartbeats slowing down. One moment made. Who knew how much more he had left?

“I am here.” John whispered back.

_For now._

John felt an elated sigh leave his throat. Followed by a nonexistent touch of lips.

His phone chimed in the kitchen table behind Sherlock. The tune sounded so ominous. And in an instant John knew who it was. It was John’s luck. There would always be something to ruin the moments of perfection in his  life.

Sherlock grabbed the phone. John counted his own heartbeat as Sherlock silently read the text then sighed.

“Mary is back early.”

And that exact moment John realized how the bubble of bliss had gone thin before it had even fully formed.  

Because there would always be Mary looming over their head. Because John could do nothing to change it. Because everything was just unfair...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok there is it at last, the first chapter for which the Explicit rating is for. Also I write terrible smut. I am very self-conscious about my smut writing ability. So every mistake or cliche is mine and mine alone. Now I am gonna fling myself at the Sun but if you do enjoy, let me know, I am taking the phone with me :3
> 
> (But also wheeeeee they did it lmao the ust was killing me)


	11. Heaven will take you back

 

> **_I like my body when it is with your body._**    
>  **_It is so quite new a thing._**    
>  **_Muscles better and nerves more._**    
>  **_I like your body._**    
>  **_I like what it does, I like its hows._**    
>  **_I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones,_**    
>  **_and the trembling firm smoothness_**    
>  **_and which i will again and again and again kiss,_**    
>  **_i like kissing this and that of you,_**    
>  **_i like slowly stroking the shocking fuzz of your electric fur,_**    
>  **_and what is it comes over parting flesh...._**  
>  **_And eyes big love-crumbs,_**    
>  **_and possibly i like the thrill of under me you so quite new._**  
> 
> **_-e. e. cummings_ **

 

Obviously Sherlock was pissed at the interruption. That much was apparent on his face when John bid him goodbye. His brows were furrowed and the kiss he gave John, mostly missed his lips. But Sherlock didn’t say anything. John wished that he had.

So as expected, John didn’t get any texts while he took the tube. None in the next hour when he confronted a mildly tired Mary at home. Mary didn’t really ask much about his whereabouts, which was a relief.

Apparently someone got into her brain and implanted the idea that it was the perfect time to talk about prenups and settle down financial disagreements.

“Marriage is kind of a business, John. I am not going to go into this with my eyes closed.” She was smiling while spreading out the papers on the table.

“But now? Aren’t you tired?” John tried to not sound too eager in an attempt to send her to bed. Knowing John’s luck, it wouldn’t work.

“Not really. And I will be busy in the next few days so I need to at least do some groundwork on this first.”

“I… okay.”

John sat in the chair defeatedly with the paper Mary handed him. His whole body was still lingering at a supersonic level. Touch deprived. Blissed out. Very much wanting to belong somewhere else. Prenups be damned.

God, he should feel guilty. He was guilty. But that wasn’t really helping. If anything else, the sensation of guilt was adding fuel to the fire.

That’s when the text came. And John felt like he could breathe again. Or stopped breathing altogether. From the past few days, weeks, the thin lining between clearly opposing things stopped being clear. John had no idea if it was good or bad. It just felt exciting.

**I hate this. -SH**

John took a side glance at Mary who had her glasses on and was reading a file in her lap with great concentration.

He gulped and typed back slowly. Concealing the action behind the stack of files and pamphlets on the table as much as possible. He had never been a texter. Better not to give Mary any ideas.

**I know. I am so sorry.**

 

**Your fiancée has impeccable timing. Could she sense that you are performing adultery? Has this happened before?-SH**

John hadn't given much thought to the word adultery before, despite it being exactly what he was doing. When people say the word, it makes the situation more real. Entirely the part he wanted to avoid.

**I’ve never been with anyone else since I’ve been with her. And not with anyone since you. And I am not just talking about today.**

The reply was short and curt.

**I know. -SH**

 

**Then why did you ask that?**

 

**Because I am jealous. Jealousy makes people say all kinds of things. Do I have to clarify everything to you? -SH**

John’s heart almost took a tiny leap in the air. Sherlock Holmes was jealous of John’s past lovers, and of course of his current relationship. The man whom everyone was jealous of. It was childish, in a sense. And also possessive. And that was a very pleasant thought.

God, he shouldn’t feel this delighted. But there was no way to stop feeling ridiculously giddy and forget about what situation he was actually in.

Another text arrived in a few seconds.

**And I am very aroused too, John. I planned to have you for the rest of the day. Can’t get the thought out of my head. Neither can I stop myself from being aroused. -SH**

That made some changes in John’s insides. Blood flow unexpectedly coming back in some places. Hell, that was hot. That was hotter than anything else he had ever seen or imagined.

How much he wanted to vanish from his own house at that moment.

**Also you forgot your handkerchief. Very romance novel.-SH**

John sighed. And typed back.

**I am sorry for ruining the night.**

Then after a moment of hesitation and a careful eye at Mary, he added another line.

**I miss you already.**

 

**You didn’t ruin it. But you are going to pay anyway. -SH**

Pay? John looked at the text again wondering what exactly was Sherlock going to do. Not letting John get near him? Or jerking him around?

**How?**

And in the next minute, John realized how much he had underestimated Sherlock Holmes. Gross underestimation. On quite a large scale.

An attachment arrived with a message. A picture of  a sweaty torso. So sweaty that it reflected the light. The hint of a teased nipple at the corner. The whole thing almost sending John’s heart into hyperdrive, as if it wasn’t already.

**Like what you see? -SH**

John could almost see the cheeky grin that must have been on Sherlock’s face.

**That was way too cheesy for my standards. Anyway. Yes, I am lying on the bed. Naked. -SH**

John’s throat dried. In the true sense of the word. Every bit of water just vapourizing from each cell of his body. It was terrifying. John hadn’t felt like this in ages. No one had made him feel like that in ages. Maybe since medical school and an adventurous partner. But that was different. Never could compete.

Sexting was not really a new territory. But he was definitely rusty.

**You are quite sweaty.**

That’s all John could type. It sounded dumb in his head. Dumber when he typed it. Dumbest when he pressed send. But when your brain starts to short circuit and just doesn’t cooperate, it’s a hardship to be coherent. Or just functioning at all.

**Great observation. I believe I am. Because of some rigorous exercises. -SH**

John's heart started to beat so fast that it would have been very possible for Mary to hear, hadn’t she been somehow squinting her eyes at the paper in her hand. He had no idea how he stopped himself from making any noise.

It took a little more time than normal to type his next words. It would be faster if his fingertips weren’t buzzing like he was touching a open electrical wire.

**What did you do?**

He typed back. Fully knowing that the answer might have the potential to decapitate him.

**Pretended my fingers are yours and then fingered myself open until I couldn’t anymore. Didn't feel like ending  it sooner than I prefer. -SH**

Sherlock Holmes was the devil incarnate. Possessing every quality to kill a man just by breathing and walking around. And John Watson was not even a fine example of a man anymore. Weak things break easily. Maybe Sherlock was having extra fun just because of that.

If he even did. It didn't matter. Because John didn’t mind. John wouldn't mind any approach as long as Sherlock existed and he could forget about anything else around. Oxygen? Unnecessary. Breathing. Just a  waste of time. Mary? Didn’t exist. There was only one delectable human who mattered. In the shape of Sherlock Holmes.

The paper in his hand had already started to crumple around the edges. And if it went like that. He was sure he was gonna lose coherence soon. It was only a matter of time and some more provocation. And then it would be hard even to hide from Mary. Mary who didn't notice when John almost sliced his arm on a broken pipe and hid it for a week .

**Sherlock. I am not alone. I am not even in bed yet.**

 

**That’s a pity. Why aren't you in bed yet? -SH**

 

**Mary wants to talk about things which I am currently not interested in.**

 

**Interruption at every step. Although that came with the package. Don’t worry, I am not complaining. -SH**

 

**I am sorry.**

 

**Don't be. I am going to benefit. Because things are going to get worse for you. You can avoid the next texts or you can look at them while she talks about her prenup terms. -SH**

John didn’t bother to ask how Sherlock would know the exact nature of the paperwork.

**What are you going to do exactly?**

 

**Don’t worry. You will not have to use your imagination much. I will help.  -SH**

“Are you done with that page yet, John? Or do you plan to be stuck on that one page all night long?”

It was Mary. At last looking up from her papers to glare at John. And with a horror John realized that for a moment he completely forgot that she existed in the room.

John cleared his throat and adjusted his position. Sherlock’s texting inevitably started to work him up.

“Yes I am reading it. But isn’t it late? We could do this tomorrow.” John said through his teeth. Trying to even his breathing. Trying to not give away how he could actually hear his blood rushing out from his brain and going downward.

Mary just glared in return.

John bit his lip and looked down on his lap. Over the bunch of papers, over his prenup agreements. His phone was showing notifications of two new texts from his wedding consultant.

This was past anything. This was past half way or three quarters. He was deep in the pit.

**What do you say about this? -SH**

And there was a picture of a sweat slicked neck. With the glimpse of a jaw and a bitten red pout.

_Fatal._

**My fingers didn’t really give me what I wanted though. -SH**

 

**What did you want?**

John was surprised to find that his own fingers were still working.

**Are you still sitting in front of her? -SH**

 

**Yes.**

 

**Frustrating. -SH**

 

**I agree.**

 

**I can’t type anymore. If I don’t touch myself I will die. You should be here. Why aren’t you?-SH**

John glanced at Mary.

**Please give me a few minutes to be alone.**

 

**Getting impossible with each passing second. Tick tock, doctor. -SH**

The next photo that came probably sent John’s nerves screaming outside his body. There was no way John could sit on the chair anymore without giving away how horny he was.

It was Sherlock, naked of course, fingers disappearing into a puckered hole. Lube dripping from his digits.

Although it was just a couple of hours ago when Sherlock gave him a mindblowing blow job, John didn’t really expect to experience anything more than that in just one day. This was way over his expectations.

John could not help the sharp intake of breath.

“John, are you okay?” Mary asked.

No, John really wasn’t. What John wanted was to run and not stop until he was at 221b Baker Street, where the most gorgeous man in the world was fingering himself thinking about him.

“John, you are sweating.” Mary asked in a confused voice.

“Told you, I should have gone to bed. I am not well.” John was sure he did sound unwell.

He watched as Mary chewed the side of her mouth for some seconds. Her eyes fixated on John. Being dizzy did not take away his ability to read what Mary could possibly be thinking at that moment. No wonder she was placing John on a step lower than she already had him.

“I don't know why I even bother.” Mary sighed defeatedly. “Yeah, go to bed then. I will be there in a minute. We have to do this later. Go have some rest”

“I should take the guest room. You know that my headaches usually come with tossing and turning on the bed no matter how many meds I take.” John tried to not fidget.

“Is it that bad?” Mary raised her brows.

“I don’t know. But I sincerely don’t want to disturb your sleep. It’s best that I sleep alone and don’t end up ruining both of our rest.”

“Okay. Whatever you think is best.” Mary smiled. “Try to sleep.”

“I will.” John excused himself, turning cautiously to not give away the straining fabric of his pyjamas. Taking the phone with him. The phone vibrated twice more before he reached the guest room and closed the door behind him.

He didn’t dare to look at the phone until he was laying down in the bed.

There were two new texts from Sherlock.

**I can still taste you in my mouth John. -SH**

**I might kill everyone in London if you don’t call me in five minutes. That’s the longest I can hold on for. -SH**

John dialed the number with trembling hands. Mildly wondering about if really Sherlock was attempting to kill everyone in London. It was funny to think about, even in his current state of mind and body. An involuntary gasp left him when the man on the other side picked it up.

“I am here.” He said in the speaker with the last of his remaining voice.

“God. Killing London would have been really inconvenient. I was not planning on doing it while wanking.” Sherlock chuckled. His voice an octave lower.

“Shit.” John cursed through his teeth trying to get out of his pyjamas.

“Are you touching yourself, John?” Sherlock’s voice was slurred, almost lost in the ethar. Still sending jolts of electricity by just existing.

“I am.”

“What are you thinking about?” A whisper came back.

“I am thinking about your lips around me. Just as it was in the afternoon.”

“Mmm. And what a waste that I did not get to fuck you properly.” Sherlock’s breath made a crackling noise on the line. Every sound that man made was scrumptious.

“Yes a waste.” John struggled for breath. Hissing when he realized how painful his erection had become.

“I am so wet John. Every time I finger myself… Ahhh… The slurp it makes is obscene, John. Utterly, utterly obscene. Apparently I used too much lube.” Sherlock was laughing.

“God, I wish I could see you right now.” John couldn’t even dare to imagine how splendid Sherlock was looking at that moment. He might have been clutching his bedsheet with one hand while fucking himself on his own fingers.

John couldn’t decide what he should concentrate on. The mental image or Sherlock’s voice or his own compulsion.

“No you won’t... ahh fuck!” Sherlock made an almost painful noise. “you will only listen for now.”

“Punishing me?” John bit down a scream trying to slow down his hand.

“I am not even touching my cock. I am punishing myself more.” Sherlock groaned.

“Masochist.” John bit his lip.

“I can't hold myself any longer, John.” Sherlock laughed breathily. “I might have been doing this for too long. My fingers are numb.”

“Then touch yourself.” John increased the speed of his fingers. “Touch your cock.”

“Then it will be over too soon.”

“And I need to hear that. Please Sherlock. Please.” John grunted in an attempt to hold his own rapture.

Sherlock must have obliged. Because John heard a  “Oh fuck… fuckfuckfuck.”

John’s thigh muscles ached with the effort to steady himself. His ears strained with the intensity of the crackling sounds.Sherlock Holmes was a gorgeous thing when he came. The face from that afternoon would be painted in John’s eyelids forever.

Sherlock was panting on the phone. John had never listened to any symphony better than that.

“John. Can you hear me?” Sherlock asked through heavy breathing.

“Yes.” John was not in any condition to manage more than one syllable words.

“Next time I see you. I will let you fuck me until both of us can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh God.” John gritted his teeth to not let the inevitable scream out.

“Yes John. Let me hear you. Let me hear you again.” Sherlock was panting.

It was overkill. Sherlock could just breath and John would make a mess of himself anyway. It was really that easy. The world turned white for a few seconds. The sounds faded into oblivion. And then when John came to his senses, the call had ended.

There was only a new text on his phone.

**Goodnight John. My bed is almost not lonely today. Sleep well. -SH**

 

****

“Did you mean it?” John whispered, licking the shell of Sherlock’s ear. His voice was hopeful. And for some reason that seemed adorable to Sherlock, who smiled and took a deep breath in John’s neck.

John smelt freshly showered, a hint of lemon in his shampoo, subtle scent of mothballs left by his scarf, a bit sweaty from taking the tube. The plaid shirt, the little spot just a perfect fit in Sherlock’s arm.

“Which part?” Sherlock could not help a moan as he got a bite on his earlobe as a reply.

Was everything more exciting just because John was engaged to someone else? Was Sherlock Holmes just one of the people who got excited from taking especially what did not belong to them?

Was Sherlock Holmes just another banality, in the end?

“The part where you wanted to be fucked until both of us couldn’t take it anymore?” John placed a sloppy wet kiss on Sherlock’s jaw. Still pinning him to the wall with an iron grip, as if Sherlock would run. “Did you mean it?”

God, he missed this. The mutual craving. The part where he wanted someone just as the other one wanted him. Or maybe this time there was an added incentive.

Well that incentive had no permission to be discussed or even thought about here. It was purely physical. Wasn’t it?

Sherlock didn’t reply until John stopped kissing abruptly to look at his eyes. In the soft glow of his living room lamp, he went breathless to see how the light created a shadow on those stressed eyebags. How John’s eye colour was suddenly not blue anymore. Not even any colour.

And his hair was made of a new shade.

The sixth colour was definitely melted caramel. By far his favourite.

Sherlock sighed and licked his lips. Watching as John’s eyes followed his tongue.

“Yes. Each word of it.”

There was something in John’s expression that Sherlock wanted to see in the men in his life. But never did. Or maybe they had. He just never actively looked for it.

Not every man was John Watson. Not everyone made his neurons go haywire just by existing. Not every man was compelling enough to make Sherlock break his rule. Not every man was appealing enough to make Sherlock fall for them.

It would end in a disaster, no doubt. Absolutely no doubt.

“You are endlessly fascinating, John.” Sherlock grinned.

“I will take your word for it.” John pressed his whole body over Sherlock’s. And Sherlock did not miss the bulge.

“You have to.” Sherlock replied. Encircling John’s waist with his hands. Holding him in an obstinate grip.

“Are you going to make me insane?” John asked leaning in and kissing Sherlock on the cheek. Then his tongue darted out to trace Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock just stood there, clutching John harder as his entire body wanted to melt on the floor, to dissociate at the primary levels of a molecule, tiny little quarks.

“I intend to.” Sherlock replied, digging his nails into John’s back under the shirt. It’s not like Mary would notice anyway.  Of course there was someone else there, just as Sherlock was the someone else here.

But the shirt was an obstacle.

As Sherlock started to undo John's shirt buttons, a hand stopped him. John was silently pleading with his eyes.

“Why?” Sherlock asked in spite of perfectly knowing the answer. That particular topic needed to be clarified long ago. Pity he didn't know John before.

“It's… ugly.” John murmured with a reddened face, sighing and lowering his eyes.

“Why don't you let me decide that?”

Sherlock resumed as John reluctantly loosened his grip. But still holding Sherlock's wrist. As if a slight sign of discomfort on Sherlock’s face, and he would throw Sherlock on the floor and run.

Sherlock didn’t want to startle the already mortified man. So he took his time unbuttoning the shirt, watching as John gulped nervously.

And he saw it at last. The angry red mark which made John broken in the first place, and then more.

“Who told you it was ugly?” Sherlock asked touching the star shaped wound. Misshapen yes. Revolting? In no sense.

“Not everything needs to be said in words.” John sighed.

“I know.” Sherlock replied. Kissing the piece of skin and felt John breathe and shudder.

Only if he knew John before. Instead of running into useless people everyday. Life was truly unfair. Only if he’d met John before Mary did. Everything would be simpler.

****

“That’s what I was missing.” Sherlock said with a shaky breath as the doctor’s dexterous fingers pistoned in and out of his body, ghosting over the sweet spot.

“You have musician’s hands. Mine don’t  compare. I bet this isn’t an improvement.” John’s expression was concentrated. Like he was doing some major medical exam. Not prepping Sherlock to bugger him.

“Don’t tell me that you believe that you have unskilled fingers.” Sherlock laughed. And had to stop immediately because John chose exactly that moment to put pressure on his prostate with his fingers.

“No. I don’t.” John looked proud of himself. A bit short of breath, gorgeous in the soft light of the bedside lamp. Soft and enticing.

Sherlock realized he already had no idea how would he ever be able to let John go, which was unavoidable. And it didn’t look like the situation would improve in any way. He could feel the rabbit hole closing while he slowly fell inside.

“Your previous partners told you that?” He asked John who was now bending to retrieve the condom pack.

“Maybe?”

John replied with a smug smile, meeting Sherlock's eyes. Throwing a mischievous glance at him. Sherlock had no idea what John intended with the look. But it had some effects. It made him angry inside for no reason. And hornier. If that was even possible.

Of course John had previous partners. He had plenty. Then what even was there to be jealous about. John was not his. Was not even intending to be. He agreed on the terms. Heck he himself laid out the terms in front of him.

“Hey. Sherlock.” Lube covered fingers patted gently on against his chest. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I just got jealous.”

That made the corner of John’s mouth quirk up. And his finger stopped. And John bent over so that his lips were just over Sherlocks. Not touching.

“Stop thinking.” John’s voice trembled slightly. John might deny it by saying it’s just from the effort of keeping himself up. Sherlock knew better.

“Okay.” Sherlock replied caressing the right side of John’s face.“Now keep your promise.”

John kept it. And it was mesmerizing to feel the promise being kept.

When John rocked himself into  Sherlock’s body, Sherlock knew he was going regret this. The way John looked at him. Slack mouth. Wide eyes, unfocused. The way John tenderly kissed the ankles of his feet in pure worship. And as they both reached euphoria as they came, Sherlock felt in his bones how the rabbit hole had no exit in any direction.

“God, you’re beautiful.” John whispered, Still bathed in ecstasy, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder. Licking the bite he implicated in the peak of the bliss.

“I will be covered in bruises, John.” Sherlock laughed. Looking at his already darkening forearm with finger marks on it. John’s fingers. A part of John.

John had insisted on condoms.

“I already gave you head.”

“That was a mistake. Won’t happen again.”

Sherlock knew John wasn’t sleeping with Mary anyway. But it was better to not even talk about it. Better to forget about her. But it wasn’t easy.

“What did you say to her?” Sherlock turned at his side where John was currently busy rubbing himself clean with flannel after he was done with Sherlock. John sighed first. Then replied slowly.

“That I have clinic hours.”

“She bought it?”

“I guess so.” John curled his lips.

“Why are you even…” Sherlock cut the chain before his words could get out. Not that it was helping. John already got what he asked and his hands stopped rubbing.

“Sorry. That was way out of line of me.” Sherlock muttered.

John said nothing. But the face he made...Sherlock wished so much that he could actually ask the question and John would say something, that they could talk about it. Sherlock knew the answer. He was sure that John knew it too, but John was just avoiding to acknowledge the answer. Like countless people stuck in a relationship out of gratitude.  

It was not Sherlock's area to think about. John needed comfort. And if Sherlock could just provide it and be happy, who was stopping him?

“Come here.” Sherlock extended his arms until John crawled into the embrace. And held his breath until he felt John relax.

“This is our heaven.” He murmured into the soft hairs. Breathing John in. All of him. The John who was nervous when he first set his feet in Afghanistan. The John who ended up in his office and twisted his world until Sherlock had no other way but to just circle around him. Hypnotizing.

His heart wanted to crawl out of his throat.

Why couldn't things be just simple? Why couldn’t he fall in love with someone with a less complicated life?

No, he was not in love. It was just pure infatuation. All he wanted was John physically. No prospect of future. No exchange of vows. No promise of love.

Bodily fluids, hungry kisses, sated faces, moving on.

 

****

 

Mrs Hudson wasn’t home. So when Sherlock decided to kiss John on his threshold, no one was there to be surprised. No one was there to ask questions. It was oddly peaceful.

“Can’t you stay longer?”

“Wish I could.”

_Can’t you stay forever?_

“Why do I have to meet annoying couples?” Sherlock sighed.

“Because you are Sherlock Holmes. That’s what you do. You make people’s life a little better by making their special day extra special.”

“I don’t wanna be Sherlock Holmes anymore. I wanna curl up around you and forget everything.”

“Don't I wish that.” John replied. Rubbing his hand on Sherlock's cheek.

“When am I going to see you again?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Something to look forward to then.” Sherlock winked. “I can try something new.” He was so excited at just the thought.

John’s face went blank.

“What?’

“Sherlock. Did you forget?” John hesitated.

“What?”

“The rescheduled meeting is tomorrow.” John’s voice was hushed.

Sherlock thought for some moments. Feeling how the little nest of pipe dreams,  prospects and unsaid promises was vanishing before it  was even there, scattering rejected twigs everywhere. All he was ever going to get was twigs, left with only enough hope in one of them to make him hopeful like an idiot over and over. And he was absolutely sure that he would fall for them every single time.

With a sigh, he grabbed John’s face for a tender kiss on the lips. It was still light outside. Enough to understand what people were doing from a distance, but not enough to identify. And if he was being honest to himself, he really didn’t care.

“Go home, John.”

He didn’t look at the road again. He didn’t want to watch John physically go away. To remind him that eventually that going away was going to be permanent. Sherlock Holmes was residing in a water drop. One bend of the leaf and the water would forever go away. Never even remembering the leaf.

He didn’t even close his door when he slumped down on the floor.  Sitting, lost in his thoughts.

So he didn’t realize exactly when a human figure stood in front of him. Only her breath gave her away. A deep pained sigh.

“Sherlock.”

“Irene... I.”

“Your door was open.”

“I thought I closed the door after I chased away the kids in Halloween costumes.”

Irene let out another sigh and slowly sat in front of Sherlock. And looking at her eyes, Sherlock knew.

“Yes, I saw the kids. Singular. Looked like a man. Exactly like one of your clients. John Watson. And if kissing him standing on your threshold counts as chasing away. You definitely chased him away.”

“Don’t…” Sherlock started to say.

“Shut up and listen to me.” Irene interrupted, and took a deep breath while Sherlock waited impatiently. He needed to clarify things before Irene said something. But there was nothing to be clarified anyway. She saw it all.

“I am not your mother. I am your friend. I am here to stop you when you are walking toward your doom.”

Sherlock looked up to see Irene’s concerned eyes. She was still talking.

“But when I will see how even the sight of your own doom makes you happy, for the first time in years. I will step aside. And will keep in mind that you are an adult who is in control of his emotions.”

Sherlock wasn't quite sure what to say to that. But something needed to be said.

“Thank you?”

“You are an idiot, Sherlock Holmes. And you are going to regret each one your actions. And you are welcome.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Sherlock scoffed.

“Ask him for those. I am sure he knows some better adjectives than me.” Irene replied laughing.

And Sherlock had no other option but to join. And he learned one lesson. Self pity is sometimes amusing.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys..The response to the last chapter and this fic so far has been so amazing. I can't quite believe the response. The kudos, the comments, the hits, the subscriptions. Thank you so much. Hope you enjoyed this chapter ( Not going to utter anything about my smut writing ability on this full E chapter because you guys convinced me that my ability is fine and I am accepting that wholeheartedly :3 ) Will be waiting for your ever lovely comments. ❤ ❤


	12. And look at you and say

> **_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._ **
> 
> **_These, our bodies, possessed by light._ **
> 
> **_Tell me we'll never get used to it._ **
> 
> **_― Richard Siken, Crush._ **

 

A whole new experience started after waking up. And to his own surprise, Sherlock found it somehow acceptable...More than acceptable.

His whole body, with some sort of magic, smelled like John. Or maybe he wanted it to smell like John. He was not entirely sure. 

A man crossing the road reminded him of John. There was something in the way he walked. A man swearing under his breath while he waited for his taxi hit him like brick wall of déjà vu. 

It should have been pathetic. To be so dizzy with lust or love or whatever it was after not being accustomed to all of those together for so long. When his forearm ached while trying to open a drawer in his office, it reminded him of how John held him in that exact place in the apex of rupture. It was overwhelming. To feel everything at once and to try to function normally. But it wasn’t unwelcome in the slightest.

It almost reached that point when Sherlock’s hand started to itch to write down John’s and his name side by side on the eggshell coloured luxury writing pad just to watch how they would look together. It should have been the most idiotic thing that had ever possessed his mind but suddenly it wasn’t really idiotic at all.

Irene certainly possessed the ability of walking without sounds in those heels... Or maybe it was Sherlock’s fault. He had been too much inside his own head, going through last night's touch memories over and over. It was entirely possible that the whole street could burn and Sherlock wouldn’t even notice because in his mind it’s merely John biting his neck tenderly. 

“Your boyfriend is here.” Irene announced gleefully.

“Huh?” 

The cobwebs of thoughts where Sherlock was trying to remember the exact sound John made while Sherlock kissed him on the nape of the neck came to a screeching halt. 

“Oh God. Look at you.” Irene made a face. “This is disgusting. Why am I even standing here still? This is like watching a trainwreck happening slowly while everyone is aware of it but isn't willing to stop it.”

“Shut up.”

“A grown man daydreaming. Rare sight. What were you thinking about, hmm?” Irene narrowed her eyes.

“You said you won’t say anything again regarding my personal life. Keep that promise. Just don’t ask questions.”

“Huh, as if I am curious to know anything. I can guess enough, trust me.” Irene said, rolling her eyes.

“We are good then.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t call him my boyfriend.”

“What should I call him?” Irene bit her lower lip. “The one who should not be named? Object of your desire? Amor secreto?”

“Can you just…” Sherlock sighed.

“It’s so fun really.” 

“It’s bordering on cruel. Send them in.”

“He is wearing a better shirt today.” Irene shrugged and walked out.

 

****

Mary walked in first. As always. And John after her. But for the first time his eyes were not trying to avoid Sherlock. Fully looking as if there was nothing else worth looking at. And for the first time Sherlock found himself trying to not look directly at him. 

Maybe sometime in the past twelve hours, or the last time John came to the office, John had metamorphosed into the sun. Or it is true what they say. Being in love makes the world brighter.

John sat on the chair and glanced at Sherlock. And Sherlock found himself in a sea of awakening pain. Pleasure, longing and memory mixed together. As if all the prints on his body made by John, awakened at his presence. It was maddening. It was utterly unfulfilling. 

He didn’t want to just sit there. He wanted to tell the world that he was in love.

“So what are we doing today?” Mary asked with a smile.

“Locations. Thought you will have a better idea of the places if you actually see them.” Irene replied and walked beside Sherlock.

“Oh.” Mary’s face brightened. “How long is it going to take?” 

“A few hours.” Sherock sniffed. “Why? Do you have some other work to attend to, Miss Morstan? Because I will not make another appointment for this.”

“No. nothing.” Mary shook her head. “At least not for a few hours.” Then she turned to John.

“Locations, John. I am excited!” The smile towards John followed by Mary’s hand over John’s.

A squeeze. A normal thing. 

As people do. As couples do.

That little gesture surfaced something within. Raging jealousy. All his life he had thought that to be the reflection of a narrow mind. People who were in control of their body and mind could not get jealous.

But there he was. Looking at how Mary’s hand touched John’s. And he almost hated John for not flinching away from it. And at the same time the parallel thoughts in his mind knew how unreasonable that sounded. 

John was not his. John was not engaged to him. John did not make any promises.

John must have sensed something. Because he looked up. An unreadable expression on his face.

Sherlock averted his eyes and stood up. Some things need to be forgotten even if it feels like someone is slicing your heart open. Love is never fair. Life is never fair.

****

There was a small crowd in front of Harrods. But something out of the crowd stood out. Maybe not to everyone. But to John. And to Mary.

A couple with two children. The wife with almost blonde hair like Mary. And the husband with a similar build to John himself. One of the children a little girl. Rosy cheeks. Her pink cheeks reminded John of candy floss. And at that exact moment John felt Mary’s fingers entwining with his own.

“Don’t they look adorable?”

“Who?” John felt like he somehow knew the answer. What this was leading to. And there was something going on inside him. A chemical reaction of some sort. Bubbles bursting and releasing, a feeling that can’t be discerned. Unwanted. Or maybe not.

“The kids.” Mary’s other hand touched John’s tenderly. And then her head moved closer.

“Don't you dream of that?” She whispered.

And John didn’t know anymore. The woman kissed the man on the cheek. And then the little girl. The toddler in the pram just laughed and laughed. A pair of warm lips touched John’s cheek. 

“I know you do.”

Wasn’t this everything he ever wanted? He used to dream of growing old with Mary. Kids, house in the suburbs, dinners in restaurants once in a while, Christmas evenings, gifts under the tree.

Who was he even fooling? 

But then he walked into the pristine office and saw a man and didn’t know what to think anymore. Or what to do when Mary held his hand in front of a pair of heartbroken eyes. 

He was building a house of deceptions and forcing two people to live in it, wasn't he? Because in the end, despite everything it seemed like Mary did care for him after all. She loved him enough to still be able to picture making a family with him. 

But he was undoubtedly in love with Sherlock Holmes. To the point where he would rather die than hurt him. And it was what was he doing exactly because there was no other way.

****

He didn’t look at John. He avoided him as much as possible while continually wanting to be near him. To see if Mary's touch left an impression on John’s hand.

But Irene proved to be a real friend once again.

As expected, during the moment the car stopped at the location, Mary gasped at the beauty of the place and forgot whoever was with her. And Sherlock watched in hindsight as Irene walked beside her and tactfully separated her from the rest of them.

The rest meant Sherlock and a very distressed looking John.

“You alright?” A hand touched Sherlock’s gently. As if afraid to touch.

Sherlock tried to breathe slowly as the words went out of him mercilessly.

“Do you like this one? Beautiful enough to get married in?”

“Sherlock…” John was closer.

“There is a fountain in the garden. It has swans. Great for pictures...” His eyes burned.

“Sherlock, look...” The hand gripped Sherlock tighter.

There was a cheerful step coming back from the hallway. John let his hands go.

“This one is good, Mr. Holmes. Very good!” Mary beamed and trotted closer.

“I thought so.” It was amusing how easily the fake smile came to him.

“John!” Mary sounded happy. And crossed Sherlock to take John’s arm. “God, I like this location. What do you say?

The world went blurry for a moment. And the only truth in front of him was Mary holding John’s arm. Smiling. He didn’t know how John looked. He knew he looked happy. He surely didn't possess the courage to look intently and see if his hypothesis was correct. Of course it was correct.

Sherlock felt like an intruder. Hell, he was an intruder. The one coming in between. Maybe John was doing fine. And he selfishly was making everything up for his own sake. Homewrecker was now the fitted adjective for him. 

What would Mycroft say if he heard? What was Irene thinking of him?

Mary's phone rang at that moment. And although she let go of John's hand, unsurprisingly that didn't soothe the burning inside.

Sherlock could not help listening to Mary's replies while watching John shifting his weight to his right foot.

“Ugh. Why this early? I thought the catalogs were sorted out. It starts at five, for God’s sake.” Mary scrunched her nose.

Early call to her work. Whole evening she won’t be home. Or near John.

Mary ended her call and walked back. “I am going to have to excuse myself a little bit early, Mr Holmes. Work call. But one thing. This is it. I am finalizing this one. What do you say John?”

“I think… it’s okay.” John murmured. 

“I am gonna get a cab or something.” Mary smiled. “I am gonna be late, John. Don’t wait up.”

Then Mary walked out talking with Irene. And Sherlock pretended that he didn't notice the side glance Irene gave him.

The moment Irene’s heels faded in the hallway, John was in front of him. No one could see it. But this close, Sherlock could see the faint bruising just under John’s jaw. Anyone would mistake it for a shadow. But Sherlock could see his own fingertips.

“Hey.”

“There is a beautiful ballroom in this one.”

“Sherlock...”

“Your fiancée will like it. Will fit to her taste.”

“Please...”

“John. You are engaged. Is it really okay for you to be involved with someone else? Don’t you value your relationship with her?”

“Sherlock. Please… I.” John looked like he was breaking inside. Sherlock definitely was.

“Go home John... Hold your fiancée’s hand. Life will be better.”

“Is it just that?” John sounded so soft that Sherlock had to bite his lips to stop the sob from coming out.“Because she held my hand?”

“Yes. Just because of that. I am jealous. I am heartbroken. I want you all for my own but...” His voice was betraying him.

“I am sorry. This is all my fault.”

“She is the one with the power of holding your hand in front of everyone. What do I get for making you happy?” God, he was an idiot for ever considering that he could handle this.

“I am sorry.” John whispered.

“Stop. Apologizing.”

Sherlock had no idea what had gotten into him. Or how he could forget the possibility of someone walking in. But at that moment the only thing that mattered was removing every sign of Mary from John’s skin. 

John might have made a sound when Sherlock pinned him to the bare brick wall. And if it was any other situation Sherlock was sure he would apologize to John over and over. But everything washed away.

John’s tongue in his mouth. John’s chapped lips. John’s confused hand still not touching him. Just hovering on his waist.

And then Sherlock let John go. Watching how a blush rose on John’s cheeks. How lovely it looked, how aesthetically pleasing with John’s kissed lips.

“She won't be home this evening. Go home. Dress up. We are going on a date.”

“A date?” John blinked for some moments. 

“I suppose you haven't lost your brain function. Yes, a date. I will text you where. Now get in that car with Irene. She will drop you home.”

****

It was like experiencing things late in life. The anticipation, the nervous fiddling with the napkin on the table, the wait for the date to arrive, the growing fear inside, what if they cancelled? These things should have died when he was in Uni. Not resurfacing when he was over thirty, it was almost ironic. He never actually felt like this when he was younger. Felt quite proud that he was over all this.

But the date itself was not to blame. The man who would sit in the opposite seat was the main concern. He was the one responsible for everything. For the little flutter inside Sherlock’s heart, or the bruising love mark on his skin. For every physiological and metaphorical change of Sherlock’s state, for the alteration in his fundamental existence. 

He felt great. Best he had felt in a long time. There was no way to stop the spreading smile on his lips and it didn’t matter if he looked like a loon smiling to himself. He was a loon, from the moment he decided to let things happen as they should, he was proclaimed crazy. And it felt divine. The world became a little brighter.

But this nagging feeling inside wasn’t letting him rest.

What if John had second thoughts and decided that he wouldn’t come and left Sherlock here, sitting at a table alone, watching as it grew darker and darker outside? Everyone around him would pity him silently. He didn't really look like he was there to have dinner alone. So if no one showed up, there was nothing to hide at all.

Should he consider the possibility of John not keeping his word? Was it an insult to the man? Because John kept each of his promises. Sherlock didn’t ask for more than he could keep did he?

Maybe John wasn't coming. Maybe Mary came back early from her shift, which was very likely to happen.

Sherlock almost didn’t notice John standing near the table. At first he frowned at the feeling of someone walking near him. Because twice he had been approached by people in restaurants while eating alone. None of them welcome. And frankly, it had been a long time since he had actually been out with someone else for a dinner. Let alone a date. 

“Hope you are thinking about me. If you were just dissecting the wallpaper with your eyes and not lost in thoughts about me, I am afraid I will be disappointed.”

John was smiling. And looking like the only source of water in a lifeless desert. 

“The wallpaper doesn't really fit this corner. I should tell Angelo that.” Sherlock lowered his voice. “But you are right. I wasn't thinking about the wallpaper.”

“I am honoured.”

Before John could even take his seat, Sherlock spotted Angelo from the corner of his eyes, walking towards the table with a huge grin on his face. He let out an audible sigh, making John raise an eyebrow in a questioning manner. But before John was asking him anything, Angelo was beside Sherlock, talking in his usual loud voice. 

“Sherlock!!! I had my doubts when the table was booked under William Holmes. And then Greta at reception told me it's you. Why didn’t you tell me you are coming?” 

Sherlock shook his head. He really did try to hide himself. But all for nothing. 

“I didn’t tell you, because you will not charge me for the meal then. Wanted to avoid that.” he sighed.

“You are absolutely right. I will not.” Then Angelo turned to John. With an understanding smile in his face.

“This man here. Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock’s eyes went wide.

“Angelo. No.” He tried a mild protest.

That was enough to make John interested.

“No no. Don’t stop him. Yes, go on. Tell me what Sherlock Holmes has done for you.”

John looked like he was trying to hold back laughter. Sherlock had no idea what exactly John was expecting. To hear an example of Sherlock’s insulting behaviour or something else. But when Angelo started to describe the way Sherlock arranged the wedding of his dying niece at just two days notice, the look on John’s face wasn’t surprised or disappointed at all. If Sherlock had known better, he would say that John looked like he was in love.

“He might be a bit harsh with words from time to time. But this man is something else.”

“Don’t I know.” John was looking at Sherlock and there was that expression again. His eyes soft, mouth holding just a hint of a smile. It was painful to look at. And unsurprisingly, Sherlock could live like that if the world around him stopped working except John in front of him looking at him like he was someone who deserves affection. 

“I bet you do.” Angelo chuckled. “Well then Sherlock. Everything on the house. For you and your date.”

“I am not…”

Sherlock looked at John, waiting for him to complete the sentence. But that didn’t happen. John just stopped and made a face like he regretted saying that half of the sentence.

John collected himself in a matter of seconds, and his face was back to his former self.

“Nothing. Just not a fan of spicy stuff. I will have your special if it fulfils that criteria.” John beamed at Angelo.

“I will have the mushroom ravioli.” Sherlock nodded and watched as Angelo walked away.

“Sorry. I don't go on dates everyday.” John had a apologetic smile on his face. Unnecessary. If he could read Sherlock he would know of course how unnecessary every apology was. 

“Me either. And that was a nice save. If you didn’t just apologize to me, I wouldn’t have even noticed.” Sherlock replied, suddenly getting confident enough to nudge John’s feet with his own under the table.

If John was surprised at that, he certainly didn’t show. Only his smile grew wider. Sherlock felt his own face doing the same.

“So? William.” John cleared his throat. “That’s something I didn’t know.

“Actually, it's my first name.” Sherlock replied, brushing imaginary fluff from his trousers. “I have always liked Sherlock. Preferred it.” He had no idea why suddenly it was impossible to meet John’s eyes. 

“Me too.” The smile on John’s face shouldn’t have affected Sherlock as much as it did. But that wasn’t unpleasant. Sherlock quite enjoyed the slight goosebumps and the warmth on his cheek as the result. It was all still quite new. And just like a fresh batch of cookies, everything about the whole of it was affecting his senses. And Sherlock wanted to eat all the cookies at once, no matter how sick that would make him.

“So, how was William?” John asked calmly and took a sip of water.

“He was… fine.” Sherlock shrugged. Drawing a water line with his fingers on the table. “A bit lost, a lot more enthusiastic.”  _ And a lot more lonely. _

“I like the sound of him.” John said, with a mischievous smile on his lips. Sherlock decided that he would trade anything in the world to know what exactly John was thinking at that moment .

“You just said you like Sherlock.” Sherlock tried to return the smile. But couldn’t be quite sure if it would even match the unparalleled confidence John was displaying right then. Not that he intended to. Because it was a similarly unparalleled sensation to be at the receiving end of the flirting done by someone you are absolutely besotted with. In other words, in love with.

“Does that make Sherlock jealous?” Sherlock felt a nudge on his right foot, and witnessed a flirtier smile (if that was even possible) on John’s face. It took a tremendous amount of self control and a reminder from his evolutionary genes to not climb the table right then and kiss John Watson on that confident mouth. 

“Not at all.” Sherlock has everything. Well, almost. William had nothing.

“Tell me more about William. I don't know him at all. And I am curious.”

“I wanted to be a pirate for some unfathomable reason. Possibly inspired greatly by Treasure Island. Minus the talking parrot. Mycroft was my first mate and I was an excellent captain. We discovered three islands and a whole new continent.”

“Great achievement. Who is Mycroft though?” John’s eyebrows made a crease in the middle of them.

“My brother.”

“You have a brother?” John’s mouth fell a little open.

“And a mother and a father.”

“Those two were expected by default. But you never mentioned your brother. I thought… you were an only child. Are you in touch with him?”

“You thought I was a rich parent’s spoiled brat, didn’t you?” Sherlock bit his lip. “Well, if by in touch you mean only getting to know his whereabouts via his spouse, then we are in touch. I don’t blame him. He is in a somehow high post inside the government and I am not really the kind of person to actively try to contact him for no reason. Maybe except during Christmas dinner. I get along better with Greg.”

“Greg?”

“My brother in law. The one who is in charge of the food and catering in my projects.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. My brother possesses the same affinity towards men like me.”

“My sister shares my attraction towards womankind.” John smiled. And Sherlock resisted the second urge to just forget their  surroundings and kiss him.

He cleared his throat and changed the topic. Partially to just hear John talking. Partially to make himself stop from really climbing the table.

“You played sports, didn’t you?”

John shook his head and laughed silently.

“I won’t even ask how you knew that. But yes. Rugby.”

“School heartthrob?”

“Looking like this? No.” John laughed and put a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“You underestimate yourself. But that is an entirely different topic.”

“Bet you were a head turner.” John was smiling and slowly chewing his food. Sherlock wasn’t sure what to concentrate on. John’s words or his mouth.

“I… maybe... People gave that impression at some points in my life. I didn’t really care about who thought what about me. Until...some months ago.” Sherlock smiled his best slow smile. Being fully aware of what it could do the man opposite him. He wasn’t naive to be precise. Just out of touch.

“Very flattering.” John sipped his wine with an approving smile on his face. But Sherlock could see him blush and felt childishly smug inside.

“It is the truth.” Sherlock shrugged.

****

It would sound silly, but Sherlock couldn’t remember the last time food tasted so good (Mrs Hudson had extraordinary culinary skills but still that was missing something). Or he felt this happy just by simple conversations. He couldn’t take his eyes away while John talked about medical school or felt like untangling his feet from John’s. 

It was comfortable. Just like that. It was fulfilling. No matter how unclear the future was. But for now, John was giving him attention. John was making time for him. John didn’t mention his fiancée once. It was easy to pretend no one was in between them. Not that John owed him anything. 

Sherlock mostly ignored the side glances and smiles from Angelo while he came back with the dessert and striked another conversation with John. It was expected. It felt damn good for no valid reason when Angelo exclaimed after knowing John’s profession.

It was unbelievable how John got along with everyone Sherlock knew, how he perfectly fit in everything. It stirred something inside Sherlock’s chest, but he decided to not acknowledge it because the evening looked perfect. 

“This might be the best cake I have ever tasted in my life. I don't know how to part ways with this.” John hummed and chewed.

It was mesmerizing to watch John enjoying his dessert. How his eyes closed to savour the taste and how the smile on his face made him look younger. Sherlock almost decided to be jealous of a piece of red velvet cake.

After stepping outside the restaurant, not before enduring a hearty hug from Angelo, Sherlock took a deep breath and turned up his coat collar. That earned him a sigh from John for some unknown reason.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Nothing. You are just too… cool.” John looked quite helpless.

“Huh.” Sherlock snorted.

“You definitely know that. Don’t act surprised.”

“Whatever you say.” Sherlock smiled and touched the little package sitting in his coat pocket for the past hour. “I have something for you.” He said, meeting John’s eyes in the light of a passing cab. John wouldn’t refuse a gift, would he?

“Me?” John looked confused.

“No. The sixty year old woman standing behind you. I really like her and want to give her something.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. And brought his hand out of his pocket holding the little Burberry bag. “Here.”

John opened the bag, peeked in like a kid and then his face looked confused as well as delighted.

“A scarf. Why?” John looked up.

“Because it’s chilly. And I wanted to give you something which can touch you when I am not even there. Something subtle enough, considering the condition of our relationship.” Sherlock wished that he did not sound too pathetic.

“Sherlock.” John blinked.

“For God’s sake.” Sherlock snached the scarf from John’s hand and before John could even protest, wrapped the scarf around John’s neck. Holding his breath the whole time for some unknown reason.

“Don’t say anything else okay? Just keep it.”

“I wasn’t intending to return it.” John said slowly. 

“Good.”

“Thank you. I love it.”

Sherlock nodded at that. Not trusting his voice enough to talk.

“Let me walk you to you flat.” John smiled. “I can do that much in return.”

It was utterly peaceful to walk beside John. To feel his hand brushing with his own, and to watch him from the corner of his eyes. The sensation of a veil of tranquility surrounding just the two of them. 

Sherlock wished that the walk would never end. 

“Was this a waste of time?” John asked after a few minutes of silent walking.

“Not at all.”

“See. Everything is not horrible.” John giggled, bumping his shoulder with Sherlock’s.

“Some things are. Like avocado. Horrible.” Sherlock mocked a shudder, which earned him another round of giggles from John.

He had to kiss John in the next five minutes. On the road, even in front of everyone if necessary, or he would die. 

And just after the darkened lamp post and zero pedestrians, Sherlock dared.

Yes, he might have felt unnaturally nervous for a grown man. He had reasons. But dragging John by the scarf, the one he gave John, the one that was touching him more than he could in front of everyone, was phenomenal. John didn’t fail to realize Sherlock’s intention. And when he sighed into the kiss, Sherlock wished somehow someone would take a picture of them from somewhere like those retro black and white shots so he can frame it, make postcards of it, feature it on a billboard on Piccadilly square. Because he would bet his own life on the fact that there was nothing more beautiful than John’s relaxed face at that moment. The lack of light wasn’t stopping Sherlock to see how John’s face glowed.

“You never stop surprising me.” John smiled. 

“As do you, John Watson.” Sherlock replied and resumed the kiss.

Happy endings always looked like that. Where in the end of the movie, couples kiss and everything is fine. Sherlock pretended that it was exactly that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, especially the date was my most favourite part to write so far. These two didn't really have so called fluffy and sweet moments and I think this filled the void. Sorry for the angst in the first half though. It is essential. Hope you guys enjoyed. Can't wait for your thoughts. Thanks for all those extremely lovely comments on last chapter. I am floored by how much kudos and comments this fic is getting. Lots of love. ❤
> 
> My extremely talented friend Claudia (@221booksinthetardis), for whom the fic was, did the best artwork possible from one of the scenes in this chapter. [Click here to see that beauty.](http://221booksinthetardis.tumblr.com/post/172552370998/for-love-in-mind-palace-a-scene-from-her) (I have such talented friends)


	13. Only one thing

> **_"The more you love someone, he came to think,_ **   
>  **_the harder it is to tell them._ **   
>  **_It surprised him that strangers didn't stop each other_ **   
>  **_on the street to say I love you."_ **
> 
> **_—Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated_ **

 

John was pretty sure he was on the phone more than ever. Sherlock was a fast texter and John found himself struggling to keep up. He was texting between work, between bathroom breaks, at the breakfast table. He was discreet most of the time but despite his best abilities, he wasn't discreet all the time. Unintentionally of course.

But Mary was simply not paying attention to that. Or maybe she did and wasn’t curious at all. Like it was very usual for John to check his phone over and over. John did his best to not do so in front of Mary. But sometimes he did, and Mary didn’t bat an eyelash. He tried not to think about it much. Because there was already a lot to think about. There was a warzone inside his head, twenty four hours a day.

Ever since the date which followed by the quiet and most comfortable evening John might have experienced in his whole life, he could feel himself almost trying to come to a conclusion. And that was scary. There was a pain in the forgotten backbone announcing its presence again. He never thought much about himself, never thought about giving himself priority. And always, always had a fear of facing consequences. Quite the irony there.

“Hello.” It was so easy to visualize the smile behind that voice on a phone. John looked at the closed door at the clinic once again.

“Hey you. Good morning.” John couldn't stop the huge grin on his face.

“So. Who was the last patient? Chest pain or prostate exam?” The ever ineffable voice said, with emphasis on the last part of sentence very intentionally.

“You are very close. Heartburn.” John giggled. “Told him to cut down on the steaks for a bit. How was the meeting with the Spencers ?”

“They are unreal.” Sherlock sighed on the phone.

“In a bad way?”

“No. In a very good way, unfortunately. They agree with me on every single thing. I could tell them that she needs to walk the aisle with a broccoli in hand and I am pretty sure she will do it. People shouldn’t be this gullible.” Sherlock sounded hilariously frustrated.

“They are not gullible, you idiot.” John had to laugh out loud at that. “They are trusting you. They are grateful to get to work with you. That’s what you always want, don’t you?”

“Not really.” Sherlock sounded distant.

“What do you mean by that?” John snorted.

“Well you know.” He sighed again. “I want people to question me at a level where it's not annoying but is a challenge to me. Where they come at me with this concept so ironclad in their mind and at the end of the meetings I am able to break it down and let them understand that I am right and they are wrong. That's the satisfaction.”

“Oh. So you love a good game.”

“There is nothing resonating with games here. I just love winning.”

“Sherlock.” John shook his head in amusement.

“Yes?”

“You are a child.”

“You are not the first person to suggest that John Watson.” John wished that this conversation was happening face to face because he had a urge to see how Sherlock looked when he was pouting like a twelve year old.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Slightly. But you give a very good blow job to make me overlook that.”

“Oh my God.” John covered his eyes, giggling.

“It is the truth, John.” Sherlock replied in a monotonous voice. “Especially the thing you do with the side of your tongue. Unbelievable. You possess some truly enviable skills, hmm.”

“Sherlock, you have succeeded to make a middle aged man blush like a fire engine.” John shook his head.

“Can't see my handiwork, that is the regret.” The voice on the other side of the phone sounded terribly smug.

“My word should be confirmation enough...” John smiled. “How are you doing?”

“Pretty good. Considering that there is going to be at least three more meetings today back to back and then four more tomorrow which means my mental status will turn into a joke and my existence will try to dissociate into the ether. I am fine. What about you John?”

“I am so sorry. I’m alright, at least I have a scheduled shift.”

“Listen... umm...” Sherlock cleared his throat. “I was wondering. If you could go to this play with me the day after tomorrow? I’ve been thinking about asking you for so long because I am dying to rewatch this and I would like to experience it with you and we can have dinner at that Hungarian restaurant you…”

“I can't.” John blurted out before he could even think out the words properly.

“Oh.”

“It's too long for me to be out.”

“I understand.” It didn't take even half a brain to understand what he did to the man on the other side of the line.

“We can try something else. A different time?” John tried to plead while internally cursing himself.

“No it’s fine John. I told you I understand.” It was quite impossible to understand if it was the phone line crackling or the voice breaking.

“Sherlock.”

“John. Forget I ever asked. I know I crossed a line there. I am aware of it.”

John didn't know what to say because in the end all of this was unambiguously his fault.

“Have a nice day, John.”

“You too.” John replied and realized the line had gone dead before that.

And what was most important was that he would have to make a choice. Very soon.

****

“Glad to know that you are shopping for yourself again.” Mary smiled and looked at her watch, then started to put on her coat.

“What? For myself?” The first reaction was to become terrified because there must have been some apparently selfish action by John somewhere in the past days where he bought something only and only for himself.

“The scarf, John.” Mary blinked her eyes and then let out a snorty laugh. “The one that is right now on your neck. Well, gotta say your tastes have gotten kinda expensive. Fits you though.” She shook her head.

John was pretty sure he had a complete shutdown of his body and mind for a few seconds. Or maybe an eternity. His neck suddenly felt hot and the surroundings were too bright as if all the searchlights of the world were focused on only him.

“Oh yes, that one.” His voice might have squeaked. How very unsuspicious.

“Yeah. Looks good.” Mary smiled again. John was not sure if his vision was back or he just imagined the smile.

He was the best example of an idiot. Who not only lacks courage and has zero balance in the self esteem jar but also forgets how to hide one bloody scarf.

“See you later.” Mary was out of the door and John had no idea why that was just it. A guy like John buying an expensive scarf out of the blue and Mary not asking one question but just compliments him?

Either something changed or Mary was not as he thought. Maybe she cared for him and that’s why this ended with a compliment. Not Mary being doubtful about the source of a sudden expensive piece of clothing.

All couples fight, don’t they? All couples have their disagreements. Then why was he doing what he was doing?

And he thought this choice was easy.

John sat on the chair and put his face into his palms trying to breath steadily and think.

Harry blew her own marriage out. It left everyone in such a state that people around her just stopped communicating with each other. John did like Clara. He could use a good friend like her. But he could not blame Clara if even the sight of John reminded her of her marriage and Harry. So when Clara slowly cut the ties almost to nothing, John understood.

Harry didn’t fuck her marriage up with an affair, well if alcoholism could be termed as an affair with alcohol, then yes. But not a real affair. John wasn’t married yet. But he was in a relationship. And he was ruining it. How ruined it already was, that’s a different matter altogether. But he was ruining it nonetheless. Just as Harry did.

Maybe there was a genetic defect in both of them? Or how else could both siblings never find something to settle on and when they actually had, they were the first ones to initiate the destruction.

He had to call Harry. No idea what he would ask. No idea that the number at which John called Harry one month ago was still active because Harry said that she was considering throwing the phone away. That phone was a gift from Clara and it was the last thing she held on to. She didn’t say anything but John knew that she hoped Clara would come back into her life again, now that she was sober for quite a few months. If John were Clara, he could not go back to Harry, he was sure.

John almost cut the call after the eighth ring. But Harry picked up.

“Hey Johnny.”

“Harry… How are you?”

“Will you know if I lie?” Harry chuckled. “I am doing better, brother. But not the best.”

“I am glad.”

“How are you? How is the wedding coming along?”

“Harry…” John hesitated. “Do you think something is wrong with us?”

“Well now _that_ totally sounds like everything is fine. Very normal, not at all a  random question. What do you mean by us?”

“You and me.”

“In what aspect John? Because we are not the same people and the things wrong with me makes a basket. The stuff wrong with you… I can count them on one hand and that includes when you dated the girl I was eyeing.”

“Shut up.” John laughed. “I am saying, is there something fundamentally wrong with us that we keep destroying our relationships?”

“Okay wow, calm down there, John.” Harry’s voice lost the previous playful tone and changed to a concerned one. “What relationship are you talking about? Is there something going on?”

“Just tell me. Is there something wrong with the way we grew up? Why we can’t appreciate what we have?”

“John.” Harry sighed. “You and me don’t compare. I am a wreck. I fucked up my own life when I had everything and I am paying for it. I had a life I would kill for to get back even half of it.”

“But you were never that man, John. You always appreciated what you had. You respected each of your relationships. What you had was that you forever had a hard time letting anything go. Remember how that jumper made you sneeze every time you wore it but you just wouldn’t throw it out?”

“My Donald Duck jumper had no fault.” John laughed.

“None of us were convinced John.” Harry was laughing too.

“Do you miss childhood, Harry?”

“Oh God ,don’t I miss dad not letting me eat for a whole week because I came out?” Harry let out a dramatic sigh as if she was being sarcastic. But John knew she wasn’t. She genuinely missed it, as did he.

“Yeah. Yeah.” John mumbled.

“John.” Harry took a pause.  “You are not me. I am not you. Don’t drag yourself down by comparing yourself to me.”

“I will try.”

“Good.”

****

John closed his eyes in the darkened room and tried to fill up an invisible table.

Last person he laughed like a maniac with. Mary: 0;  Sherlock: 1

Last person who made smile without even being present there. Mary: 0;  Sherlock: 2

Last person who made him feel loved. Mary:  0;  Sherlock: 3

It was an awfully easy decision to make. But he needed to be absolutely sure first.

****

From the last time John was in the room, the room didn’t change. Well nothing major. The flowers in the vase were a bunch of yellow roses, not white lilies. The annoying tear in the carpet which Ella must have missed, heck anyone would miss, had gotten a little bit bigger.

The colours of the wall same. The therapist sitting on the opposite chair, the same.  The irritatingly calm pictures of nature hanging on the wall. God, they were still unsettling but just the same.

What did change was only himself. Every bit of his skin was changed, every blood vessel was carrying new erythrocytes, every nerve ending got restored by nothing else but a constant painful battle of thoughts.

Ella talked in her usual calming tone, tearing the not so uncomfortable silence of the room. But John thanked God that she did, because one minute more and John was ready to bail out. The amount of determination he had last night lying on the bed, had washed off slowly and there wasn’t much left. He was getting ready to go back into his shell again.

“I know it’s not fair for me to say this because I do want you to talk more to me.” Ella pursed her lips. “But what I have to say John is that I am surprised. This visit and your last has the shortest time gap ever. Which makes me wonder because it’s you.”

_Yes, he was burning from the inside out. Did that count as reason enough?_

“I am getting married.” John sniffed.

“Yes John, you told me that last time. Many congratulations again.” Ella smiled. “How's it going? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Congratulations… Yeah.” John felt like acid was coming out of his mouth.

“What is it John?” John raised his head to see Ella closing her notebook. A surprised look on her face.

John could tell her. At this point he could only tell her. Not even Sherlock.

But she would judge him, wouldn’t she?

“Your carpet. That tear there. It got bigger. I… I am sure you missed it. But it’s…”  John took a breath. He wasn’t there to talk about carpet was he? But how could he let his brain spill itself open, let his heart bleed in front of a therapist when he cannot even confess to himself?

“It’s getting bigger and it’s annoying and...”

_And Sherlock Holmes would hate that._

“Thank you for noticing, John. I will see what I can do about it.” Ella blinked. “Is that all? Are we here to talk about the tear on my carpet?”

John didn’t want pity. He wanted to just not exist anymore.

“I should have died that day, you know.”

“You are talking about the army. John?”

“Of course I am.” John laughed. “I should have died that day so none of this could happen. That bullet should have hit here. “ John tapped his chest. “So that I would have never ever had to suffer from my actions and the consequences.”

“John.” Ella’s voice resembled a whisper, like a sudden cold breeze in the sand of Afghanistan.

This wasn’t a battle. But it was. He had to be brave.

But John Watson was not the John Watson he used to be. There was some dusted old corner in his life where he left the manual for how to be brave. He was just a shadow now who for the love of everything couldn’t take one decision on his own before everything spiralled out of control.

He hadn’t lived a long life yet. But God he was tired of things never working out.

“Would you mind telling me what’s making you think that it would have been better to not live anymore?” Ella said slowly. “What actions brought out consequences that you can’t tolerate anymore?”

“I...” His throat was made of chalk dust and it was agonizing to let the next words out for the first time. And not even to the person it was for.

John closed his eyes, and there was Sherlock Holmes. All curls shining in the pink light outside the restaurant, putting a scarf around John’s throat.

That day John wanted to tell the world that he loved that man, no matter how wrong it was to say.

“I am in love with someone who makes me happier than ever. Who makes my life better and myself a better person.”

John opened his eyes to see a very concerned Ella looking back at him.

“And here is the punchline.” John smiled. “That person is not my fiancée.”

“So?”

“So? John snorted. “You are asking why that’s bothering me? That the fact that I am in love with a man who is not my fiancée? That I don’t feel anything lately for Mary? That I am in the relationship just out of obligation? That my life is a cluster of decisions I never thought I wanted to make? Ever?”

“I guess him being a man is not bothering you?” Ella raised her eyebrows.

“No. That’s not what’s bothering me.” John mumbled.

“Tell me about him. As much as you are comfortable with.”

“He is eccentric.” John smiled to himself. “Moody. Scary to everyone, initially to me as well. But he is something I never knew I wanted.” John looked up. “I stopped using my stupid walking stick because however cliche it might sound, love cured my psychosomatic limp. How am I even a doctor?”

“Tell me, John.” Ella crossed her arms. “How can this be hard if you already have a choice?”

“I… don’t have a choice.”

“You can’t lie to me, John.” Ella shook her head. “At any time of the day, in any situation, at any random moment, if you had to choose, I bet you have a choice. And I am pretty sure what that is. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know.” _Yes._

“Do you know what gut feelings are? You know those, don’t you? You have treated thousands of patients and do all of them show signs of one certain sickness all the time? Or maybe sometimes they don’t show symptoms which correlate with anything you know, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, that happens.”

“What do you do then? Take a leap of faith or just sit there? Watching your patient deteriorate? You were in war, John. Sometimes weren't you the only thing between a soldier losing a limb or getting to keep it? It just depended on you and your decision only?”

John breathed out slowly. He was sure where Ella was going and that is the thing he had been trying to avoid. To make someone take the decision for him.

“Choose one, John. This is your life. Take the decision. Take a chance when you still have time. Opportunities don’t have the tendency to stay forever. And trust your instincts. That roots from thousands and thousands of years of evolution. Something embedded deep inside us. The body communicates with the brain and takes the decisions for you even before you get the grasp of it.”

“I can’t...”

“Can’t what? That’s not a real phrase, John.” Ella’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “My grandfather decided to join theatre at the age of sixty. With no prior training. He woke up one nice morning and told my grandmother that he wants to play King Lear because apparently that is the dream he didn’t know that he ever had.”

“Kudos to your grandfather.”

“I say you deserve the glory too.” Ella smiled. “Just try to imagine a future, look what looks brighter, and just go inside that door. Do it before it’s too late. And if you make the right choice, the debris the other option leaves behind won’t be able to touch you.”

“Does real life work like that?” John let out a sigh.

“It doesn’t. But the choices we make build up our every path. From what bread to choose from to what career we should take.”

“Pretty sure I always choose the wrong one.” John huffed. “It’s not easy.”

For some weird reason, that made Ella smile more.

“We learn from our mistakes. Good luck John. Don’t be afraid to take responsibility.” She cocked her head. “And don’t be afraid in general. You survived a war. You can survive this. But if you really want to know an honest opinion, I have one.”

“And that is?”

“I would never choose the psychosomatic limp, John.”

****

John didn’t know whether he chose to call a cab and give the driver a particular address consciously or unconsciously. But when he stood at the front of that door and looked up and saw the silhouette behind the curtain, his heart skipped a beat.

“Hello dear, nice to see you again. He is up there trying to make me mad with these screeching violin noises. Would you see to that? I tried and he screamed at me.” Mrs Hudson’s face was more worried than annoyed. “I am quite certain that those sounds are not classified as music.”

“Yes, I am going to ask him. Don’t worry, Mrs H.”

“That’s so nice of you, John.” Mrs Hudson smiled.

John pushed the slightly ajar door and that made a noise. Enough to make a very unkempt looking man with a violin in his hand snap his head.

“Mrs Hudson how many...” His words died in his throat and his face softened. And John could see an almost nervous gulp in his throat.

“Hey.” John smiled tenderly.

The screeching noise had stopped leaving silence behind. John was sure he could hear Mrs Hudson saying a _Thank God_ from downstairs.

“John.” Sherlock whispered.

John wasn’t sure if it was possible to not be used to something after so long. Sherlock’s voice, in each scale, each situation, made his head feel lighter every damn time. Even when that voice was confused and a tiny bit scared.

He stepped inside and closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 huh. How time flies. Means only 3 more to go. Anyway. Hope you guys are still liking it. And about the angst, be patient. All will be well. And you do enjoy the angst along the way ;)  
> This fic has crossed 500 kudos already, which is a first for any of my wips. Thank you for that. And this already has more hits than any of my fics. You have no idea how happy that makes me. Thank you. Very much. A lot.  
> Will be waiting eagerly for your wonderful comments. <3 Hope you had a lovely weekend.


	14. Can make a soul complete

 

 

> **_I will hold your voice in a little box_ **  
>  **_And when you come upon me I won’t look back at you_ **  
>  **_You will feel a hand upon your heart while I place your voice back_ **  
>  **_Into the heart from where it came from_ **  
>  **_And I will not cry also_ **  
>  **_Although you will expect me to_ **  
>  **_I was wiser too than you had expected_ **  
>  **_For I knew all along you were mine_ **
> 
> **_-Dorothea Lasky, Poem to an Unnameable Man_**

 

He didn’t know what he expected or why he even expected in the first place. It was entirely idiotic for him to think that John would be amenable to everything he wished for. This was not a normal relationship. Everything he wanted could not be fulfilled. It was not fair, but it was all he would get. Dinner at a restaurant and the forced gift was already too much. No wonder John would want to take the relationship back to its original position again. Watching a play together, dinner again, that’s what couples do. They were not a couple, no matter how much he wanted them to be.

Sherlock switched his phone off and gulped down the glass of water in front of him too quickly. It hurt his dry throat a bit but that didn’t matter. Three more meetings in front of him, not even the middle of the day and he already felt exhausted.

He waited for a long time looking at the bottom drawer of his desk. In between the work, for the past few months, he entirely forgot the need of a cigarette. There was always John to talk with, to pass time talking about everything and absolutely nothing. But it was getting clearer and clearer that it was not going to stay that way. The pathetic thing was his stupid brain wasn’t listening and trying to argue as if somewhere along the duration of this neither here nor there relationship, John made a promise.

He absolutely didn’t. John walked away before any damage could happen. John didn’t make the first move when he unassumingly walked in again. This was all on Sherlock. From the initiation to the execution. And to want a committed man, no matter how shitty the relationship he was in.

It would be better, he tried to reason. It would be so much better if he just had dismissed the couple that day. It would be so much less complicated if he never allowed John Watson in his life.

But he wasn’t kidding anyone. He would make John Watson walk a thousand times into his life, even if it meant that in the end he would be the one getting nothing. It was juvenile. But he was sure he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sherlock looked longingly at the cabinet once again, and then decided against a smoke. At least something to remember John with. Nicotine patches could be a replacement. A poor one, albeit.

“Do you want something to eat?” Irene walked in with paperwork in hand. “I am going to the florists for a bit. Henderson’s changed the flowers again and went back to the initial white roses. I have to adjust the account. I swear you should stop keeping the choices even for the platinum packages I am just tired of…” She stopped mid speech when Sherlock looked up.

Her mouth shut with a click and her gaze became soft.

“Stop tugging at your hair if you want to keep at least half of it.”

He had no idea that his hands ended up in his hair, an action only coming out when he is frustrated beyond expectation. His subconscious mind had enough discipline to not ruin his appearance at any cost, however weird that sounded.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sherlock… What's eating at you?”

“I can feel it you know.” Sherlock whispered. “It’s going to end soon, I don’t know what else I was hoping.”

“Neither do I. And I hope you are not asking for _my_ input on your relationship problem?” She was smiling. But it only looked like a smile, didn’t quite feel like it.

“No. I will handle this.”

_Lie. I don’t know how to handle even a part of this._

“I sure hope you do.” Irene nodded her head. And Sherlock felt like there was a sympathetic ‘no you can’t’ behind it.

The next couple was one of the most ideal he had ever seen. On a scale of one to hundred, these two were a thousand. Agreeing with everything and each other. Never letting go of each others’ hand. So happy. So painfully happy to look at.

Sherlock never cared about the comparison of his life with his clients. Different people, different life choices. They could be happy like that, he loved to see them happy like that. And he was happy like this. Life didn't bear the same meaning for everyone, that's just how it is.

But then suddenly, he wasn’t indifferent. He was… envious?

Miss Reeves said how she just wanted to say the vows and get married, everything else was on Mr Holmes as long as the day was wonderful enough. Her fiancé was smiling and looking at her face with so much adoration, it felt like the world shifted.

And then Sherlock could see it. What could have happened. What he was hoping would have happened all along but denying it the whole time. There was a secret door knocked open and everything was spilling out.

Quiet nights in the flat, but instead of being alone, hunched over the laptop and half empty pad Thai, John in the opposite chair reading something with all the concentration in the world, while Sherlock is unable to take his eyes off him. A metal band on John’s finger, reflecting the light from the fireplace. Dinner over a heap of folders and newspaper. John angry over how much mess Sherlock makes with all his paperwork, fascinated over his weird obsession of collecting paper clips. John kissing him on the threshold of the kitchen, then taking him apart in the shower, vacations in the Sussex house, christening every surface with hasty or slow love making, depending on the mood; he would take John to Hampstead Heath, to lie down on the grass and listen to the birds chirping.  Vows, an altar, John’s eyes happy, Mummy hugging Sherlock tight ‘we are so happy you found someone, sweetheart’, getting drunk together, feet under the blanket, kisses on the eyelids, occasional bickering, surprise gifts, snow on hair, love, love, love. Never alone.

And he was sure that after seeing couples year after another, watching how the relationships were either held by a thin string, making him reject them, or either unachievable relationships which he was sure he had no chance of ever getting in, he thought he would have had it enough. Whatever happens, there was no way on earth that marriage would ever be his personal consideration. Yes, Mycroft had a happy marriage, so did Irene. People around him did settle.

But he had never been like either of them. He hated most people. His nickname in the circle was The Overrated Asshole. Still the waves of clients never stopped. And that was all. Who even wanted to commit for life? Who wanted to even commit? Not him.

“I understand you don’t want to move from the flat and that much I can understand. But don’t you feel lonely, son? Look at Mycroft. He looks so radiant.” Violet had said last Christmas.

“Mummy...” Sherlock had groaned at that as usual. Violet had the tendency of asking the same question every time and nothing was going to change that. He never had any satisfying answer either.

“I am just telling the truth, darling. I would be so happy to see you happy and content.”

“I don’t need someone for that. I have the work. And occasional bad telly, and definitely the violin.”

“Work which involves making people's weddings pretty. Do you see the irony?”

“I told you. I am okay like this. Not everyone needs another human being in their life constantly. It's not healthy to be that needy.”

His mother had smiled in a melancholic way after that, and her eyes had drifted over the window, where his father stood with eggnog.

“You think so.” She whispered. Then her eyes had come back to Sherlock and he saw her eyes smiling. “You will be proven wrong. Mark my words.” She had patted Sherlock on his legs and stood up. And Sherlock dismissed the whole thing from his mind immediately. There was no human he could stand. Let alone to be devoted to entirely. He was sure that anyone who met him shared the same sentiment.

Out of everyone who could have shaken his world, it had to be a committed man, it had to be a question of morality. Somewhere, someone was surely laughing over this.

****

For the next couple of days, the messages were brief every time. So were his replies. Like both of them were restraining themselves from saying something that could make everything worse than it already was. But it wasn't possible to avoid air and continue living, so he wasn't living in the proper sense of the word.

**Good Morning. Busy day at the clinic.**

 

**Same for me. Too many meetings. -SH**

 

**Don't forget to eat. The human body doesn't run on sarcasm.**

 

**Why do you care? You are not going to be here forever.**

**I miss you.**

**I will keep that in mind. Don't forget to take a proper rest. -SH**

It was hard to not call John. Harder than he thought. It was harder to reply to his texts in an emotionless way. There was suddenly nothing to talk about. Wrong, there were a lot of things to talk about. But why bother when none of those would have no meaning at the end? John was not going to stay. Why make the inevitable future more unbearable? John was going to go away with part of his soul anyway. Why make the cavity bigger purposefully? How could he be so darn stupid?

“I am not blaming him. I am not.” Sherlock murmured to himself. Four meetings were exhausting. But that was not the cause of why he felt exhausted. Greg might have sensed something during the third meeting and that’s why the impromptu invitation to go to the pub happened. He denied. He was not the kind of man to dissolve his turmoils with alcohol, but he wished he was.

Mrs Hudson had a pretty clear idea about what John’s relationship was with him. It was clear as day. There were a very few things that anyone can hide from their over caring landlady.  And he didn’t really mind that she knew. Because she would praise how much of a gentleman John was while never uttering any words about how John is his client. She could sense somehow that Sherlock didn’t need to be reminded of that. She had known him long enough to know what should and what should not be talked about. And Sherlock was grateful for that. But it was scary because soon she would start to pity him because John was slipping away. And that pity was not something he would like.

He didn’t think about playing anything really. The hold on the bow and the violin was a comfort at first. Then it was subconscious mind playing Bach and before he understood, it was his conscious mind pouring all the pent up sadness on the strings. It wasn’t music, he was aware of that. It might have been his tears, deafening to his own ears. But it was good. As long as he wasn’t letting real tears fall from his eyes, he could convince himself he was handling it well.

Mrs Hudson paid a visit somewhere in the last hour, or hours. Who knew. She had something to give and something to say and Sherlock shouted at her so much that none of those happened, he had waited until her footsteps receded and he went back to torturing the piece of wood because that was the only way to communicate with his surroundings, because no one else would listen or understand.

Looking at the flickering light of the lamp outside, Sherlock realized that he almost wished to see John never again.

There was a slight noise of door creaking, but no footsteps prior. And who would even visit him so late if not Mrs Hudson, maybe with a casserole in her hands this time. He would apologize to her later for being so rude again. But he had to.

So he turned around, ready to say something harsh to keep her out of his flat for at least the next two days.

But the words died in his throat, and like deja vu, another night, John Watson was standing at his door again, sober this time.

****

John didn’t say anything for some moments. Just closed the door with the heel of his shoes and leaned on the door, just observing Sherlock. He looked… tired?

 _Why are you here?_ He wanted to ask.

 _I don’t want to look at you._ He almost wanted to say.

But none of those things happened. Because somehow as soon as John was in the room, he took control of everything, even Sherlock’s power of speech. It was comforting and terrifying to know that it was possible to be that vulnerable.

So Sherlock didn’t utter a single word when John tenderly unwrapped his fingers from the violin he was holding so tight that it left impressions, or took his hand and guided Sherlock to his own room. Sherlock’s voice was still lost when John got rid of both their clothes with steady hands and peppered kisses all over his face with great devotion. He only opened his mouth to say something when John laid down on his back on the bed and dragged Sherlock over him, and whispered in his ears.

“You…” Sherlock blinked, looking at the tired but glinting eyes, processing what John had just asked for.

“Shh.” John’s fingers were warm over his lips. “Don’t talk. And yes, I want that.”

It didn’t occur to him for the next few minutes. Nothing came to mind when he found himself getting busy over drawing out breaths and moans and incoherent words from John with an almost bite over the clavicle, a hundred kisses on every bit of skin he could reach. It still didn't occur to him when John’s head hit the headboard with a strangled moan and when Sherlock found himself buried in John’s warmth, or when the mattress creaked with the thrusts and John’s eyes were droopy with pleasure and both of them were gone, gone, gone and the world became white noise and the thin patina of sweat on John’s forehead became too irresistible to not taste. It still didn’t hit him when John’s nails dug into his skin and there was a whispered I love you so much somewhere embedded in the incoherent stream of words John was making. He was too lost to think about the significance of this urgent, let’s not talk need of sex.

It only hit him when his nose was buried in John’s neck, needing air but not wanting to need it, and John’s mildly calloused fingers made doodles on his scalp. It came all at once, that’s why John wanted to them to not talk, why John wanted it different than the last times. Why this was slow, why this was painful, heart achingly sweet love making. Inside himself, there was a voice trying to make him focus on the fact that why there was this sadness looming in the air, although this might be the best thing to happen to his body ever.

It felt like… a goodbye.

Oh.

_Oh._

It was a goodbye. John came to say goodbye with everything.

And as soon as the realization hit like a brick wall, suddenly he knew what to do.

John was awake, although it looked like he wasn’t, and it was impossible to say the words if he looked at that sated face. It was possible to break down or make a fool of himself, despite making a promise that he would handle it like anyone does. So he lied down beside John on the bed, no point of contact except his fingers’ touching John’s.

“I am going to tell you something that I never told anyone. I want you to listen and don’t ask me anything. Promise me that much.”

A pressure on his fingers came as a reply.

“You know about the Trevors. Big name. The youngest Trevor came to my office with his fiancé one day. Both charming, young, perfect couple. They would brighten the room with every meeting we had. In that office, in this flat. Yes, I used to bring clients here. I loved to work with them.” He could feel his heartbeat peaking up.

“Victor had a magnetic personality, and I came to understand later, that he had excellent control over his appearance and a power of… you can say, manipulation of some sorts. I was younger, I wanted friends, naturally. And Paul was busy with his work most of the time, so in between the extravagant wedding planning, Victor became my friend, at least I thought so.”

The pressure on his fingers subsided a little bit, almost unnoticeable.

“Then Victor kissed me in his house when we were watching a game, and I realized how I had led him on involuntarily, and I have never felt so disgusting in my whole life.” A chill ran through him remembering the almost forgotten, deep buried memory of touch.

“They were a perfect couple, John. And I was, unbeknownst to myself, ruining them.”

His eyes had started to sting a bit.

“I told Victor to stop it. I removed any contact, I stopped appearing in meetings. Irene took over for me. But just two days before the wedding Victor pleaded me to be there as a friend. That it would kill him from the inside if Sherlock Holmes wasn’t there. He told everyone how good of friends we were. His reputation depended on it.” He was always an idiot, wasn't he?

“It was a decent enough request. But I shouldn’t have listened to it. Because I had never been that humiliated in my whole life. Because instead of walking to Paul at the altar, Victor walked towards me, and in front of friends, and his family, kissed me on the lips.”

God, it felt good. Too relaxing. No idea if it was the sex or the feeling of a rock finally out of his chest.

“I might have died there for a few seconds. I had no idea what he said after that or why people were holding a furious Paul. I just remember feeling like I touched an open electrical wire and when I could feel the ground beneath my feet again, I asked Greg to get me out of there because I couldn’t breathe. I confined myself in my office for hours and came out only when Irene threatened to have the door broken down.”

The room seemed too silent.

“No words from the incident reached common ears or eyes. Or at least visible enough. Mycroft took care of it. How lucky am I to have an influential brother.”

John didn’t say anything. Of course Sherlock had asked him to not say anything.

“You are wondering why I am telling you all of this.” He could feel his body slackening. And everything felt good.

“I wanted you to know that I didn’t love him. Ever. This. You and me. Is not the same.” He needed to be awake. But his body was betraying him.

“I love you. I always have. From the moment I saw you in my office, limping with a cane and so much anger inside. I understood that later." He wanted to face John now. See his face one last time, but he felt so heavy, it was impossible to turn now.

“John Watson, what did you do to me?” He wanted to laugh.

He was not sure if the words were only in his mind or he actually said it out loud. Maybe the pressure on his fingers was back and warmer and maybe John said something which vaguely sounded like idiot and John felt so soft on his back while he wrapped his limbs around Sherlock, his breathing slow and steady and like an anchor in the sea on unconsciousness and uncertainty. John might have said something after that. He didn't remember.

Or maybe that part had been a dream just like where John cuddled with him on the bed and kissed him on the nape of his neck.

Because when Sherlock woke up in the morning, John wasn’t in the room, nor in the flat. There was not a movement anywhere.

He sat up on the bed. Except the wrinkled bed sheet, and an almost invisible ashy blond hair on the pillow, there was no evidence of John anywhere in the room. And his life.

Of course John was gone at last. What else did he expect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep faith in me. And remember that this has a happy ending. Also I will probably update faster now. ;) Don't want you lot to suffer too much. Also you know. Miscommunication...is a trope :p  
> Lotsss of love. Do scream at me ;D
> 
> P.S : @nath-loves-murphy from tumblr made a beautiful gifset for this fic. [Go check that out](http://love-in-mind-palace.tumblr.com/post/171367579911/nath-loves-murphy-would-you-sing-up-to). The idea of it is so unique.


	15. And that thing is love

 

 

 

> **_Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it?_ **  
>  **_It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest_ **  
>  **_and it opens up your heart and it means that_ **  
>  **_someone can get inside you and mess you up._ **  
>  **_You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor,_ **  
>  **_so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person,_ **  
>  **_no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life …_ **  
>  **_You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it._ **  
>  **_They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you,_ **  
>  **_and then your life isn’t your own anymore._ **  
>  **_Love takes hostages. It gets inside you._ **  
>    
>  **_-Neil Gaiman, The Sandman_ **

  
It was bright like spring, light like cotton, air so thin and stretched that it felt like he would fly away every time he breathed. And the hands encircling his waist from behind, the breathing pattern on his ears and the chin resting on his shoulder were too familiar.

"This is different.” He said to no one. Hoping that someone would hear. The shoulder bone felt like it had never broken, and the air tasted like honey. It felt like home, although the concept felt alien.

“How different?” The voice which whispered in his ears undoubtedly belonged to Sherlock Holmes.

“Everything.”

“You are not really being specific. Is it the feeling that’s changed? Or have you?” The voice insisted.

“Both.” _Because yes, that was it._

“That’s vague.”

The voice seemed mildly annoyed, but then John felt Sherlock sighing, followed by a small kiss on his shoulder.

“Is that what love is?” John asked, covering the hands on his waist with his own.

“I don’t know, John Watson.” The smugness behind the words was unmistakable. “Why don’t you tell me if this is indeed love?”

“How would I know?” John frowned.

“Look.” The voice said, and John saw his own beating heart in front of his eyes. “You are not broken anymore.”

“Is that… my heart?”

“Of course, John.” Sherlock purred in his ear. “You gave it to me for safekeeping. Did I do a good job?”

Then all of it melted in a warmth of Sherlock’s smell, and John had never felt so light before. At last he was flying.

 ****

John woke up when it was still not even morning outside. A gauze of light from a street lamp was trying to crawl inside the room but not quite succeeding, courtesy of the heavy drapes. There was a scent of something very delicious near his nose, accompanied by the softest of curls trying to get inside his mouth.

It took him some time to understand where he was. Because despite the bed, the feel of the mattress and the body beside him not really being unfamiliar, falling asleep in it was new.

Wrapped in the majority of a blanket and trapped by his arms, Sherlock slept like a child. So peaceful. Like nothing happening around him could touch him.

At first John decided to not move, to keep lying there as it was, feeling so content and relieved and perfectly in place. But then the thought of the only incomplete task came to mind and he had to wake up fully against his wishes. He had to deal with that as soon as possible, no matter what time of day it was. Or night. The bedside clock confirmed that it was four in the morning.

He had no idea that Sherlock Holmes could actually sleep so sound. Sherlock would always complain that sleep was not an easy thing for him. Just like John’s own problem, minus the nightmares.

But after a long, long time, John’s dreams were not about war, no bullet burning through his muscles, neither hands stopping him for making any sound, nor blackness like tar consuming him whole.

Maybe it was like that for Sherlock too. Maybe they were all along the remedy for each other. What could be better than that?

“Good morning.” John murmured, kissing the sleeping man’s temple. Sherlock only stirred a little but showed no signs of waking up. “I will be back before you know it. Time to deal with the last of the strings still attached.”

John walked around the room on tiptoes trying to ignore the aches all over to retrieve his clothes. No better time than this. The words were arranged in his mind like books on a neat bookshelf. Alphabetically, in perfect order. First time in life he felt absolutely sure.

Mostly empty carriages in the ungodly hour littered the road and the street looked like it was dead. But John had never felt more alive than that moment. At last he was going to face his fears, his insecurities and think about himself.

****

It took Mary some time to open the door, expected because no one would ever ring the bell at this time except maybe burglars, well burglars wouldn’t ring, would they?

John focused his mind on the tiny little grass flower just within the illuminated area of the lamp. Funny how this place already felt like it belonged to someone else, a different John. Home was where a man was asleep tangled in the sheets, whose eyes would make the sea feel underachieved and who made John feel so loved and wanted that it seemed unreal. John would think it was unreal if it was not this apparent in everything Sherlock did. If his every touch didn’t translate as pure worship or every longing gaze didn’t show the utter devotion. It was heady to experience so much attention from a man who still seemed unachievable in every aspect.

And then Mary opened the door. Sleepy eyes and expectedly irritated. And looking at her face, John realized that he didn’t feel anything for her. There was no love left. No friendship. Heck, Mary didn’t really like him. He just thought she did. Because there was no other way to live. How was he even living?

“Well, look who’s home.”

Mary stepped back slowly with a pointed look as John entered and closed the door.

“This is a nice surprise at four in the morning.” She smiled a faux smile. “Do I need to ask you where you were?”

“As if you were concerned.” John said, looking straight at her eyes. There was really no need for any pretence anymore. He was there to break it off, not be gullible and suck it up and live the rest of his life stuck in a sham of a marriage where he gained absolutely nothing where Mary… Well God knew what she gained. He was going to ask her at some point. And going to hope that she would give an honest answer.

“Wow.” A wide grin slowly emerged on Mary’s face. “Look who has grown a pair of fangs suddenly. Got bitten by some vampires, John?”

“Wish I did.” John replied, not trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. “But no. I am just seeing things more clearly.”

“I see.” Mary crossed her arms. “I can safely assume then that you are not here to talk about flowers and sunshine and your new suit and then crawl into bed beside me?”

John sighed. And pointed towards the chairs in the living room.

“Let’s sit. And for once in our life, have a talk without pretense.”

“Woohoo” Mary raised her eyebrows. “Thrilled.”

John looked at her face and something behind her eyes told him that she knew what John was going to propose. Was she expecting it?

“I don’t think this wedding should happen in any circumstance.” John said holding his breath. Waiting for Mary to burst in anger at any moment and start spewing words at him.

But that didn’t happen. For a few moments her gaze fixated on John and got intense. Then an almost smile appeared on her lips. Then she was shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she heard.

“Well John Watson. When did you grow a spine? And thought that you can make decisions alone?”

John almost wanted to give a rather angry reply at that. But suddenly there was a moment of clarification, about what exactly Mary was doing. For some reason, she was simply trying to rile him up. Because angry John is a dumb John. No better than the John living inside this house for the past year. She would make him angry and then the conversation would shift towards what it’s not about. And then… it would all be John’s fault. Like always.

Well now John understood it, it had to change. Once and for all.

“It won’t work.” John looked up at her with a smile. “I know what you are trying to do. But it won’t. I am not going to get angry and make this conversation about something else.”

And Mary really seemed surprised. No way she was expecting to be called out. John almost held his breath to see how she reacted at that.

“You really think this is your own decision, John?” She asked calmly. “To end this relationship? It is that easy? You walk in here after spending the night wherever you felt like and tell me that this wedding isn’t happening?” Her voice was still eerily calm. John didn’t quite understand if the words were really genuine or just spoken to get a reaction out of him. His logical mind decided that it had to be the latter.

“You don’t really think this… whatever we have, is a relationship… do you?” John asked in an even tone. For a split second a thought crawled into his mind. What if Mary didn’t let him go? But then the answer came immediately in mind.

There is nothing to bind them. She had no leverage.

“That didn’t stop you from agreeing to marry me before. You proposed. Not me.”

“Because you made me.”

“I made you?” Mary giggled. Her blond locks fell over her face. “How exactly? You are not a child, are you?”

“No. I am not. But I had no other choice.”

“And you do now?” Mary didn't really seem phased by that.

“You bet.” There might have been a bit of pride in John's voice.

“Must be someone who doesn’t know what to expect in a human, a decent one.” Mary snorted.

“He knows what to expect in someone. And trust me, he is something you can’t even dream of becoming.”

“Him?” Mary smiled. “Interesting to know that you got tired of women at last.”

“Don’t be more cruel than you already are.” John pursed his lips.

“Alright.” Mary raised her arms as if apologizing. “Sensitive topic.”

The conversation halted for a while. John could feel Mary’s eyes on him while he tapped his fingers on his thigh.

No idea if Mary would answer it, but he had to ask.

“So?”

“So what?” Mary raised her eyebrows.

“Why were you in it? I know I was pathetic, I was desperate.” John counted fingers.

_I mistook you for an oasis but you turned out to be a mirage._

“But what was in it for you? This sham? This loveless marriage? You weren’t agreeing to arrange a wedding just for the funsies, were you?”

“Because maybe you don’t love me but I…” Mary curled her lips.

“Don’t tell me that you love me.” John raised his hand in attempt to silence Mary and it worked. “We both know that's just a waste of words.”

“It was worth a try.” Mary shrugged. And her whole demeanor changed to something daring, clearly indicating at this point she didn’t owe anything to John.

“So. In the spirit of clarification and sharing, are you gonna tell me the reason?” John asked.

“I don’t owe you one. I am agreeing to break this, that should be more than enough.” Mary replied with a stern voice.

“Really? You are not even a tiny bit willing to tell me? You are free to mention again how pathetic I am. Go on.” John knew her long enough to know what would work.

Mary looked at him for a long moment with an expression of silent amusement.

“You do know me John… Hmm. Let’s see.” Mary lifted one leg over the other one, sitting more comfortably. “Well you know, you are decent man, however pathetic you may be. And people like you. Mr Summerson from two houses down hates every single soul but he actually smiles while talking to you. So you know, you are quite an image of the good man.” She shook her head.

“That is the thing I like about you. You try hard to keep up the image and God, that in turn makes me look so good. And you didn’t really care about anything. That helped me to keep doing things behind your back. You are the perfect rag doll. No offense.”

“None taken…” John blinked. “Are you… seeing someone?” He felt hopeful suddenly.

“You don’t get to be judgmental, John. If someone like you can do it,  I am more than capable.”

John didn’t even register the subtle insult.

“For how long?” He silently prayed that it would be long enough. So it was justified. That it wasn’t him first who wanted out. Not that it was really necessary, still.

“Almost a year now.”

It felt like a huge weight was lifted off his chest.

“A year?” John’s mouth fell open. “And you were still putting your money and everything into getting married to me? Why not him? Whoever you are seeing.” He could not help the frustrated chuckle. And it was rightfully liberating.

“He is married. Can’t divorce his wife because that would mean losing a fortune. Something to do with some prenup arrangement. Rich in-laws.”

John wanted to laugh or cry or maybe do both. 

“So I was going to get married to you and then move to France when you stayed here… You can work out the rest.”

“God.” John covered his face with his hands. “Was this all a fun game to you? To see when I caved? Or…” He lifted his face “...You thought I would never say anything.”

Mary nodded her head with an amused smile plastered on her face. Totally unphased by the conversation.

“Christ. Was there ever anything between us? Did you even love me?” John wanted to burst out laughing.

“Maybe once… I really don’t remember. Or maybe I just pretended.”

“I thought I did love you." John sighed. "Not that it matters anymore.”

“No. It doesn’t. And for fucks sake John, I am not oblivious like you.” Mary scrunched her nose.

“What do you mean?”

“I know that ‘He’ is Sherlock Holmes.” Mary smiled a wide smile.

Everything was deafening for a bit. And then it wasn’t.

“You knew. And you still…”

“Oh yes. The answers to all the questions in your head is yes. I did everything while being aware of what might be going on.” She shrugged. “Not sure when it started and truly not interested. But John you did hide it from me for quite some time. You deserve credit for that.”

“That talk about how you want kids, how we want kids. That was after you knew about him. That was deliberate.” John really wanted to not stutter. But this was a shock.

“John.” Mary rolled her eyes. “You were not supposed to have the guts to actually say no to me. So yes, of course I was securing that. What's so surprising?”

“Nothing.” John realized he was smiling. “It just makes me feel a lot better.”

“Good for you.” Mary tilted her head.

“You know what. My leg stopped hurting. I don’t know if you noticed.”

“Do I care, John?” Mary made an irritated face. It was too hard to look at her now that her true self was out. How was John so blind for so long?

“No you don’t. Sorry.”

“Exactly.”

“So. What now?” _Besides me at last getting to be happy._

“Well this wedding is not happening, that's for sure.” Mary chuckled. “Tell your Sherlock that I should get my whole deposit back because he fucked my fiancé. I am pretty sure that overrides the rules about the cancellation fee.”

John winced. But shook his head.

“And you should get your things out of here as soon as possible. And out of my life.”

“Fair enough.” John stood up. “I will come by in a few hours to collect my things.”

“Text me beforehand.” Mary said standing up. “So I can be somewhere else. And no offense John but I don't really wish to see you again.”

“Same here.”

“And here.” Mary placed the engagement ring on the coffee table. “My, that was some half assed ring for some half assed engagement.”

“Keep it.” John said.

“Why would I?” Mary made a face. “You keep it. You can… sell it?”

“Throw it out then. That never carried any value for me.” John didn't wait for an answer and walked out of the house.

He didn't care what Mary's face looked like. The first step outside the door felt like a cluster of oxygen molecules trying to enter his lungs at once. The second step made him aware of all the strings snapping at last. Strawberry ice cream, Mary's perfume, the annoying smudge on the kitchen wall, even the good times when he thought he was in love.

And the final step outside the house, it almost felt like there was a pair of wings trying to come out of his back.

London never felt brighter.

John stood on the sidewalk and typed a text. His hand was shaking.

**I thought I should tell you first. I broke up with Mary. The thing that I couldn’t tell you over the phone that day, is that I am hopelessly in love with a man who, due to some miracle, is in love with me too. You might like him. He is kind of rude with everyone, but is actually the opposite inside. Like you always are. In case you deleted my number again, this is John. Hope you are doing ok Harry.**

After sending the text, his hand hovered for a few moments on a name in the contact list. But that hesitation was short lived. His heart was trying to walk out of his mouth and jump in the Thames when the phone started ringing.

“Hello.” A familiar female voice answered. Clearly just woken up.

“This is John Watson.”

“Um… Mr Watson.” She yawned. “Why are you calling me so early? I really don’t like business talk outside the office. Can you call me back in a few hours?”

“Sorry for the timing.” John tapped his feet nervously. “But I need to ask for a favour.”

“A favour? From me?” Her voice had started to take an annoyed tone. “Not sure what _I_ can do really.”

“Oh yes,  you are the perfect person for it. And it’s not really something business related, but again, it is.” John might have hurried a little at the excitement.

“Go on.” She sounded confused.

“Mrs Adler, I need you to cancel my wedding contract. It’s not happening.” John let the words out in a single breath.

There was a moderately long silence at the other side. Then the phone line creaked.

“Mr Watson, does that mean…?”

“Yes.” John couldn’t help grinning.

The groan of satisfaction that came as a reply was certainly amusing. There was an incoherent stream of-thank-God-my-God-dear-lord coming out of her mouth.

“Thank God in heaven.” She groaned again. “At last free from all the secondary stress. Molly wake up! We need wine and I don't care what time it is.” John could hear a sleepy mumble in another voice.

“Sorry for keeping you in stress.”

“Don't apologize to me.” Irene huffed. “Go to that lovelorn idiot and relieve him from the actual stress as soon as possible. Why are you even calling me now? We could easily deal with this later.”

“I think I am nervous” John chuckled. “I could make an announcement on the telly right now I am so pumped but I am not ready to face him. You know what I mean?”

“A bit. But what I know for sure is that you should put the phone down at this moment and walk or run or swim or just do anything to reach Baker Street.”

“Will do that. Thanks for listening to my muddled thoughts at an inappropriate time.” John realized he was almost running towards the station.

“Don’t mention it. Anything else you need?” Irene laughed.

“A bit of good luck?” John replied, fumbling with his Oyster card.

“Good luck, Dr Watson. Now run.”

A pair of wings would really be handy. John thought while trying to not run and draw attention. The distance between the tube station and the door behind which happiness waited, seemed too long.

****

On the other side of the door, Sherlock at last felt like he could sit up and make a phone call.

“Listen Irene, I think I should take a few days break. This much emotional turmoil has worn me out.”

_And I need to be away from the flat for some days. Because for some weird reason, everything reminds me of John. It’s not possible to get rid of my own skin, or I would do that too._

“Whatever. Both of you are so determined to not let me sleep this morning. I am not complaining though.” She yawned. “What do you want to do with a break?”

“Maybe go to the Sussex house for a bit... Hang on.” Irene’s words dawned on him. “Both of us? Who else are you talking about?”

“Um…” Hesitation clear in her voice. “I think I was not supposed to just say that. But I can’t be blamed, can I? I slept for maybe four hours. I am not at my best.”

“Who called you other than me?”

“Your John Watson.” Irene sounded delighted. That was odd.

“Why? To tell you that you I should not interfere with the rest of the wedding arrangements left? I guess that’s fair considering...”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Irene snapped so loud that it caught Sherlock by surprise. Making him almost trip over the carpet. He had no idea when he had stood up and started pacing around.

“...Why?” He asked. Entirely unsure about what made her snap.

“I have absolutely no idea what last happened between you two.” She said calmly. “But, he didn’t call for anything which has any chance of keeping you out of the wedding.” Her voice was gaining back that delighted tone again. “I mean… how can he keep you out of a wedding if there is no wedding at all?”

“Are you joking with me?” There was a sound of sea waves crashing in his ears. Or it might have been his own blood rushing. Yes, that seemed more likely.

“Don’t make me sound so cruel, you clot. No, I am not joking.” She was laughing a laugh of relief. “Your Amor Secreto does not need to be so secreto at last.”

“He cancelled the wedding? Why?” His voice was trembling a bit.

It couldn’t be so he could be with him. But if it was, then it meant that he had misread the situation last night. So that meant John had a moment of epiphany at some unusual hour and went to confront Mary? Was Sherlock really that lucky?

He couldn’t care less about how he misread John the previous night. He had no shame to be proven wrong in this case.

“Why do you think, idiot? Why do you think he would call me at five in the morning to tell me that he is cancelling the wedding and in urgent need of a bit of good luck?”

_It can’t be for me. It can’t be._

He tried to reason but the relief of it being the exact reason, was too overwhelming to think about anything else, to even entertain any other possibility.

“I…” His throat went dry.

“He will be there at any minute, Sherlock. Try to not scare him. He is already too nervous.”

The last words were drowned by the sound of  the door opening and Mrs Hudson telling John that he didn’t need to buy breakfast. She could make something.

He was completely unaware of where he tossed the phone, or how many steps he took at once. He nearly fell twice just in the seventeen steps.

Irene said to not scare him. A kiss wasn’t scary.

****

The breakfast was simply to buy more time. To prepare at least three types of speeches in his mind to explain to Sherlock what he did and maybe clarify any misunderstandings because well, if he woke up to an empty bed, he would be upset. While his latte was being prepared, John made another speech in mind in case Sherlock was particularly angry and wasn’t listening to him.

“Why did you buy breakfast John?” Mrs Hudson looked disappointed. “I am not really that old to not feed you no matter how much poor hospitality Sherlock shows.”

_I was buying time because I am more nervous than a teenager asking his crush out._

He could not say the real reason could he?

But fortunately and surprisingly, no reason was needed at all.

There was the sound of an unnaturally hurried step on the stairs, and it was getting close too fast and before John knew anything, his face was held in a cage of willowy fingers and he was being kissed while he struggled to not let the coffee cups get crushed.

“Sherlock... I...” John wasn’t really sure if he actually needed to say anything because if Sherlock was kissing him and not screaming at him that meant everything was fine apparently?

“Don’t talk. And Mrs Hudson… Go back inside.” Sherlock replied in a gravelly voice which made John jump a little inside. But when Sherlock turned his face, he was smiling.

“Kids these days.” Mrs. Hudson murmured, while going back inside with a smile.

“She called us kids.” John said in a deadpan face.

“Serves you right.” Sherlock glared. “You could have woken me up before going out. So that I didn't have to wake up alone and be absolutely sure that you left me.”

“My pants are still in your room.” John bit his lip.

“I didn’t have the mind to consider searching for them, John.” Sherlock gave John a hard stare. “I thought you were just gone. I thought,” His voice got quieter. “That the things I told  you about Victor, maybe that put the final nail in the coffin.”

“God no.” John smiled. “Am I that shallow?”

“No. I am sure you are not. But you didn’t say anything last night. And then you were just… gone. I thought you came for a last..you know.”

“For a last hurrah before I left you forever.” John wanted to hit himself. “Of course it looked like that. What was I even thinking? I wasn’t really.”

“It’s okay John.”

“I am so sorry, love. For everything.”

“It’s fine. Everything is fine now.” Sherlock mumbled.

“So… um… I think Irene told you, huh?” John wouldn’t deny that he was almost relieved that Sherlock already knew.

“I think she wasn’t planning on it.” Sherlock tilted his head. “But I called her with a broken heart to say that I need a break from my work and it just sort of happened. She called me some names.”

“So what happened is that I went...” A finger silenced John.

“I don’t need an explanation John. No details. At least not right now.” Sherlock smiled.

“Okay then.” John had no idea what to do when everything was right. The feeling was very unfamiliar. What was he supposed to do? Scream in the streets?

“Mmhmm.” Sherlock sounded distant while his eyes roamed around John’s face.

“I need to get back to my now former home at some point to collect my things.” John sighed. “Mary told me to get out of the house as soon as possible. Not that I was planning to live there.”

“John.” Sherlock said slowly.

“Yeah?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes for a tiny moment, then opened his mouth.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. It’s nothing personal. I just hate sounds sometimes. I am very messy and known to be very rude. But I guess you already knew about the rudeness because you have firsthand experience. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. You never lived with me. So you deserve to know the worst.” Sherlock was panting a little.

“That’s…” John gaped for a while. “That’s not really the worst… Are you…?”

“Yes, asking you to move in with me. That’s the only logical conclusion.” Sherlock replied with a tone of certainty.

Getting into a relationship with someone he actually loved and getting out of a relationship which was killing him slowly was already a little too much for John. Right choices are fulfilling, but not so easy. Getting to live with the man he loved as well? That was still a bit of wishful thinking. But he would be lying if he said that the thought never came to mind. Sherlock's flat could accommodate both of them, that was something he noticed long ago. When everything in his life was still a mess, he often wondered how cosy that flat felt like.

He thought he had already said yes but Sherlock’s next words proved that he actually didn’t say the affirmation loud.

“I mean...” Sherlock sounded nervous like he had crossed a line. “If you want to take things slowly, there is always a room upstairs. Mrs Hudson will not have a problem with that. I have no problems with boundaries. I will try my...”

“Stop talking.” John smiled at the face bearing a very small resemblance with the Sherlock Holmes he first met months ago. He was still no less compelling. Truth be told, far more fascinating than before. It was unbelievable how things worked out. Because no way in hell he could ever imagine this particular outcome. It was never an option.

Glad how the unimaginable happened. Like it would be completely different, something else altogether if John didn’t propose to Mary, if he didn’t walk in to that office, if he didn’t meet the love of his life. Guess Mary did something for him unintentionally then.

He almost wanted to ask Sherlock if he could handle John at his worst. But looking at the eager and hopeful face, decided not to. There would be time to sort things out later. Clearly Sherlock needed John as much as John needed Sherlock. They could work out the rest.

“I have no intention of taking things slowly. I have had enough of that.” Sherlock’s face brightened at that and John couldn’t help stroking the stubbled cheek with his free hand.

“And we won’t be needing another bedroom. I would hate to sleep in any other bed than the one I have already slept in. But I guess you have too many clothes and you need the closet space so we should actually take the room upstairs. Not for sleeping...”

John didn’t get a chance to complete his words. It was a challenge to hold the breakfast in his hands when Sherlock’s fervent kiss was making him lose his balance, but like everything happening in his life right then, that worked out. The cream latte didn’t spill, the croissants weren’t crushed and John decided to forget what the word miserable meant anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I will update faster. I don't know what you guys were expecting. Were you expecting me to stretch the climax for another chapter? :p But whatever you were expecting, I hope this didn't disappoint. Yes the story apparently ends here. They get together blah blah blah. Happily ever after. But this is a story about a wedding consultant. It would be unfair if I don't give him a wedding to work on. So the last chapter is going to be pretty long and fluffy. You know, as weddings are.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you on Sunday for the big wedding. Save the date. And don't forget to comment. ;)


	16. Epilogue

 

> **_"Where does it all lead? What will become of us?_ **  
>  **_These were our young questions, and young answers were revealed._ **  
>  **_It leads to each other. We become ourselves …_ **  
>  **_'What will happen to us?' I asked._ **  
>  **_'There will always be us,' he answered."_ **  
>    
>  **_-Patti Smith, Just Kids._ **

 

In the comfortable silence of the room, only two sounds were above everything. The sound of the fire crackling in the fireplace and the continuous sound of Sherlock scribbling in his notebook, immersed in the pages and inside his head, looking exactly like a renaissance painting.

John didn’t know how long he had been looking at Sherlock for, it must have been a while because the sky outside was dark, it wasn’t when he last looked at it. But there was simply no reason to look anywhere else but the man more necessary than oxygen in his life.

A lot had changed in the past few months, for good and for worse, mostly for good. And he realized he didn’t give a thought about what he would like for the future.

Sherlock didn’t pressure him into anything. Starting from the space he needed, to the lack of space he didn’t. The man was reading him like a book. And John never knew being vulnerable could feel so satisfying. Sherlock would look at him and John could feel the stare inside his soul and it had never been safer.

Looking at the concentrated face, scrunched nose and furrowed brows, hair resembling a bird’s nest, the dressing gown falling from his shoulder and a bit of ink on the corner of the lips, reminiscent of the moment where Sherlock accidentally chewed the pen, John decided it would be now or never. He didn’t have anything. Not a ring, not even a piece of paper. How would Sherlock feel if John proposed to him with the copy of last week’s The BMJ?

Or did it really matter? Being in love with Sherlock and being loved by Sherlock was something that didn’t have any expectations. That much was clear by now. Then why even bother with a token? The flat, the fireplace, the two chairs facing each other, the bed, the messy kitchen which no matter how much John tried to clean became messy again, the wall which was not even a wall anymore but just layers and layers of paper, their beautiful shared life. It would be an insult if wanting to have this forever with Sherlock even needed a token.

So John took a deep breath and walked up to the chair that seated his love. The man didn't even seem to notice, not even when John kneeled in front of the chair. He didn’t do this before. Never kneeled when it was Mary in front of him, he never felt like kneeling.

“Sherlock?” John asked softly. And like a magic word, that broke whatever trance of his own head Sherlock was in. John sometimes felt so powerful when somehow Sherlock could hear him in any state of mind.

At first Sherlock’s eyes quickly scanned John’s posture.

“What are you…?” It took him a bit more time than John expected to understand what was going on.

“Yes.” John cleared his throat.

Sherlock didn’t say anything in reply. Only his mouth opened a little for a fraction of a second, then quickly closed again.

John was sure he was looking absolutely hysterical kneeling like that, but no one was present except Sherlock, and it really didn’t look like Sherlock was focusing much on anything, let alone John’s posture.

“I am not really good with words and the perfect sequence to arrange them. Also this carpet is hurting my knee, not really young anymore, am I? So without further ado, I will just ask.”

Sherlock looked like a statue in the halo of the fire of the fireplace, it looked like he wasn’t even breathing.

The heart palpitations were expected. And John wasn’t actually scared.

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you marry this man who practically has nothing except you?”

And Sherlock was definitely not breathing. Instead his eyes were wide and his neck muscles tensed.

“Sweetheart… you’re scaring me.” John whispered.

Still there was no reply. John almost considered standing up to make sure that Sherlock hadn’t fainted with his eyes open. And really, really hoped that the look in Sherlock’s eyes was not of conflicting thought.

“Love?” He asked for the last time.

“I didn’t think...” Sherlock blurted out.

“What?”

“I didn’t expect you...” Sherock replied in a shaky breath.

“Expect what?”

“To. You know… Consider it again.” The pen in Sherlock’s fingers fell down. But it didn’t look like he noticed it.

“Oh.” John blinked, unable to say anything else.

“Or I would do this first.” Sherlock whispered. “I thought about it so much.”

“Do you regret that? Not doing it first?’

“No.” Sherlock’s face softened. “This couldn’t be better.”

“Then?”

“Then what?”

“The answer to my question?” John asked, being completely aware that he was holding his breath.

A rustle of fabrics and a shift on the air, followed by bony arms holding him and a whisper along with a puff of breath on John’s ear.

“Don’t be an idiot. You know it’s always a yes. Always has been.”

The voice still sounded like sin, and melting chocolate, and definitely home.

Damn lucky he was. So damn lucky.

****

“John, please.” Sherlock pleaded again. Might have been for the hundredth time in one week. Or maybe his mind was tired and exaggerating. Likely the latter one.

“No.”

“Just tell me something. Anything. Colour of the roses?”

“Nothing at all. It’s all up to you.” John replied taking the last sip of his tea.

Sherlock knew very well that his own tea resembled nothing but cold leaf water by then, but tea was not the main concern. It was getting John to answer some questions. Very important ones. There was a wedding, his own. And he was not going to admit that it was terrifying. There was no way he was going to let John know how much he wanted it to be about John and there was a lot he still didn’t know about John.

But John was being unreasonable. When he had told Irene that John was not being overly helpful with the planning, Irene had called him unhealthily obsessed, that he should leave the poor man alone. He had chose to ignore her comments.

“You know what we need? A proper questionnaire. These random attempts at what you like or don’t like is not working at all.” Sherlock pouted.

John sighed again. “Love. Listen. It doesn’t matter really. I will be fine with whatever you do for us.” Was that disappointment in his voice? Or exhaustion?

“Who said it doesn’t?”

“I do.”

“How many weddings have you arranged?” Sherlock cocked his head.

“Not a single one.” John replied, going back to the Sunday newspaper. “That’s why my expectation is not high. I can get married in a dingy, old, full of cobwebs register’s office, or in Speedy’s if that was possible, because that’s closer.”

“Don’t even say that.” Even the thought of getting married somewhere which is not a perfect, picturesque venue was a nightmare, no matter the fact that John was definitely joking.

“Don’t joke about this.”

“I am not.” John’s face was serious. But there was a bit of a certain tenderness in the face that made it clear that he was indeed joking.

“I will take you to my office and make you sit in the opposite chair and deduce what you want.” Sherlock announced. There was really no better idea than that.

“I am not your client.” John narrowed his eyes.

“You are, in a sense. You are getting married and I am looking after it.”

“If you make me sit in the chair and treat me like a client, I am going to make you pay. There will be lot of things not happening. Starting with the head massages you particularly enjoy, and then that will be followed by physical activities you eagerly await for.”

“You wouldn’t do that.” Sherlock snorted.

“Are you sure you want to test that theory? Because my restraint is pretty high. Yours isn’t.” John had that particular smile on his lips, which could be called a smug one. Sherlock never told John that he looked very attractive with that smile. He would tell him at some point.

“You are being cruel, John.”

“You know that’s because I love you and if I don’t keep you in check you are going to go absolutely crazy and scare your clients.” John said, folding the newspaper in his lap.

“I do nothing of the sort.”

“Who was screaming at his client at the top of his lungs yesterday just because they asked if a different shade of peach could be considered?”  John raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner. “You know I do get to know your whereabouts. Eyes and ears everywhere.”

“First of all, you weren't supposed to know about that. And secondly, you would want to strangle them too! It was atrocious, John. She had the nerve to even ask me to change the colour scheme to something so horrible that I am pretty sure her ninety year old grandmother, who was eagerly waiting for the wedding would have a heart attack. I can't kill another human being, can I?”

_And I certainly can't let people make decisions on their own when I am right there in the room._

“Of course you can’t.” John nodded. But it certainly was mock sympathy.

“Also eyes and ears everywhere?” Sherlock snorted. “You almost sound like my brother.”

“Your brother.” John chewed his lips. “Quite a discomfort inducing man. Not that I am easily affected.”

“He expected you to be affected. That’s why all the mysterious black cars and giving you ‘the talk’ shenanigan. What did he even tell you? You never told me.”

“To not break your heart.” John replied smirking.

“Huh.” Sherlock snorted. “Impossible. But also I don't care about what he said. He is not my guardian.”

Maybe he could annoy Mycroft to take revenge of that.

“Come here.” John motioned with his hand. Patting his thigh.

Sherlock obeyed not so reluctantly but kept a false expression of reluctance. As if there was nothing worse at that moment than sitting on the carpet and leaning his head on John’s thigh.

John smelled of aftershave and jam. And his palm was warm.

“I just want to marry you, you big idiot. It’s just about you. I don’t want it to be about anything else.” John’s soothing fingers ran through Sherlock’s hair. An effective method to make Sherlock drift away too soon. Maybe John was doing that purposefully? Possible. Entirely possible.

“Do you have faith in me, John?”

“That should not even be a question.” The limber fingers made the weird tugging thing that they did the best, making Sherlock moan. God, he could almost swear that head massage by John was better than sex if sex with John wasn't the absolute best.

“Oh yes I do. Mostly.” John whispered. Although Sherlock’s eyes were closed, it was easy to sense a hint of cheekiness in that reply.

“You are distracting me.” Sherlock slurred. John’s hidden ability of giving a very satisfying head massage came into light after one particularly exhausting day and the wrong decision to have an excessive amount of coffee. Since then neither John could stop giving them nor Sherlock could stop demanding it.

“I am doing nothing of the sort.” John obviously lied. But that didn't matter. Nothing did.

“Do you like the colour blue, John?”He asked before he lost the ability to speak and drifted off to sleep.

John took a few seconds to give an answer to that. And when he did, it sounded so loud in his head.

“If it’s in the same shade as your eyes are, then I obviously do.”

He was the ideal definition of being happy and lucky. Wasn’t he?

****

At first Sherlock seemed mildly angry at the suggestion, then annoyed. But after Irene’s logic, he came to terms and John let out a secret sigh of relief.

“I have half a mind to say no to this.” Sherlock still whined.

“Keep that half to yourself.” Irene replied in a stern voice. “But whatever happens, you two are not getting your suits at the same time. You don’t want to jinx it, do you? I can take you if you want. And Greg can take John.” Greg silently nodded at that. Being too busy with the phone in his hand.

“No. I am not taking you.” Sherlock shook his head. “You are too mean.”

“I am mean? Ask your clients.” Irene chuckled, extending her hand to steal a biscuit from Greg’s plate.

“I am not mean to my clients. I am just too overwhelming for them.”

“Overwhelming? Haaah. That's just fancy for mean.” Irene rolled her eyes and then sneered at Greg, who at last being aware of where half the biscuits on his plate were gone, had moved the plate away from her reach.

“It’s just biscuits, Greg.”

“Get your own.” Greg replied with a hissing tone.

John had no idea that the interaction between two adults could resemble a fight in kindergarten. But looking at Sherlock and Irene was like two kids having a competition of who can scream ‘you are mean’ the loudest. Both were winning.

But it was amazing. To be with people, to feel at home. To have a proper family. Blood relation or not. He wasn’t supposed to be this happy, was he? Did he steal someone’s fate?

“I will take Lestrade.” Sherlock announced.

That made Greg spit out his last bite and start coughing.

“Why me? Take your brother.” Greg replied coughing.

“Mycroft? As if he has the time to go suit shopping with me. Do you even live with him?” Sherlock scoffed. “Also he is annoying.”

“You are going to ruin my whole day, aren’t you?” Greg replied with a deep sigh. “You are going to make the tailor want to kill you and me want to kill myself.”

“It’s just suit shopping. Don’t overreact.”

Greg did not look very enthusiastic at that.

From the other side of the room, John mouthed thank you at Irene who just winked in reply.

He was not going to get a suit at all.  There were not a lot of things he could surprise Sherlock with. Because somehow, by living together in the couple months, Sherlock had read John like an open book. What his favourite time of the day was, how he preferred his pasta, what jumper he was going to wear that day to the clinic (while constantly complaining about the age of the jumpers), or an almost accurate list of childhood crushes.

But Sherlock would never imagine what John had in mind for the wedding.

“God, his face is going to be something! I am telling you.” Irene had laughed for a full five minutes when John had told her about the idea. “He has a thing for uniforms. He thinks no one understands that. But if he faints from too much excitement, it’s on you.”

“I know.” John had laughed too. And devised a plan to keep the every observant man in darkness. It was going to be perfect, he could feel it.

****

Sherlock had begged for a whole day, breaking his ‘I don’t ever beg anyone for anything’ rule. Rules were made to be broken, there was some nonsensical proverb about that. But not his rules.

But it was John, and when it came to John, rules always walked out of the window and ran until they reached a different continent.

“Please, just one location. I am not going to drag you everywhere.”

John looked up with a loaded but calm expression in his eyes. Sherlock cursed himself for understanding it too late.

“It will be none of the other locations you have seen before.” John’s palm was between his own. Colder than he would Have liked. “And it’ll just be you, me and Irene. It’s not the same. Trust me?”

John looked at his eyes for a long moment, then nodded and got ready without a word.

Sherlock was sure he would give his life to know what John was thinking about at that moment. If it was possible, he would scrub John's memory by his own had until the unwanted shadow of John's past was gone forever.

John didn't utter a single word until they reached the location. And when he actually talked for the first time, it was actually a gasp.

“It’s...”

“Monstrous?” Sherlock added with a smile.

“No.” John glared. “And you know that very well. It’s… magnificent. I don’t belong here.”

“You do.” Sherlock replied entwining his fingers and dragging John towards the gate of Fennes. “Because I say so. And even if I didn’t.”

And John followed him silently, although not reluctantly. Sherlock glanced by his side to see that familiar fond smile on the lips. John was liking it, and that was a relief. John was nodding and agreeing while he described the perfect spot for a picture. The little bridge outside earned him a laugh of disbelief from John.

“And this is the most important part.” Sherlock stopped in the middle of the ball room. Placing both of his hands over John’s shoulders.

“You know that my dancing skills are just… not something which should see the light of the day?” John said, almost blushing.

“You have me for that.” Sherlock leaned in so that his eyes were level with John’s, pretending that he didn’t notice the way John’s breath hitched. “I am going to give you lessons. And at the end of one month, you are going to make Gene Kelly cry.”

“Yeah right.” John licked his lips, eyes darting back to Sherlock’s lips over and over. “That is entirely impossible.” The distance between their lips started to reduce, making Sherlock let a small sigh out.

“Sherlock! You left me with Mr Burke. You know how much he talks! I am almost deaf.” Sherlock wanted to burn Irene at that very moment, and the thought of it might have been very apparent in his expression because Irene made a very scared face.

“You have the worst timing in the world.” Sherlock blinked angrily.

“Ugh sorry, sorry. I will just… leave you two alone.” She walked out hurriedly. Sherlock waited until her shadow disappeared, then looked at John who had a sly smile on his face.

“If I remember correctly, you were going to kiss me.” Sherlock said, backing John slowly against the closest wall.

“It’s hard to let anything pass by you, huh?” John replied, meeting Sherlock’s eager lips.

****

Sherlock whined. Lying on the carpet, over scattered papers and brochures, and from the expression on his face, still blissed out.

John scooted closer, looking for warmth because his body seemed to be too slack to go and look for clothes.

“This is the third time you made me forget my work by seducing me. If this continues, we are going to get married at Speedy’s.”

“Stop exaggerating.” John nuzzled at Sherlock’s neck, breathing in the scent of clean skin, aftershave and sweat, feeling the steady rhythm of Sherlock’s chest under his palm. “You are planning way ahead of everything. It’s impossible for us to get married anywhere but where you want us to be.”

“And where you want us to be.” Sherlock replied, turning to John with an wince, probably because of the carpet burn. “I want to know that you want it. It’s all for you.”

“I want this because you want it and that makes me happy.”

“This is like a snake eating its own tail.” Sherlock sighed.

“I guess I just love you more.”

“I will tell you a secret.” Sherlock said, sliding down and nuzzling John’s chest, feeling how John shivered again.

“What is it?”

“I love you the most.”

****

Sherlock realized he was very close to drooling because of the sight in front of him. It was nothing explicit really. It was just John tasting cake, and putting on a show. Making even the hardened married man Greg Lestrade blush.

“I should have just left you two alone with the cakes.”

“You should have.” John replied, licking the spoon again. Not taking his eyes off Sherlock.

“I am out.” And with the words, Lestrade hastily left.

“My office is not really a comfortable place for anything.” Sherlock said with a shaky breath, “The table, maybe?”

“I have to go to work. Don’t have time for anything. Also too many people outside.” John dropped the spoon noisily on the plate.

“People don’t matter. Come on John. You can’t do that.” Sherlock mumbled weakly.

“You are allowed to take revenge anytime, Sherlock.” The smile on John’s face was that of winning a battle. Definitely taking revenge on Sherlock for leaving John hanging on the phone while he got busy with the violin piece he was writing. In his defense he had no idea that John was aroused at the other end of the line. He had to listen John saying ‘go fuck your violin’ for the next three days.

“I will take revenge. A huge one.” Sherlock shouted to make sure that John would hear it. The laughter confirmed that he did.

****

“Can you tell that I am terrified?”

The sudden revelation at the breakfast table made John stop chewing his poached eggs. He looked up to see a wide eyed Sherlock, kind of reminding him of the little deer from the animated movie, Bambi, that was the name.

He had to handle this scared adult as well.

“So what if you are terrified?” He asked in a calm voice. Sliding his free hand on the table, silently demanding for Sherlock to take it.

Sherlock didn’t take it. Instead his gaze focussed on John’s palm.

“Am I supposed to be? I don’t know what I am supposed to be?” His voice was shaking.

“You have done hundreds and hundreds of weddings like this. You have been telling me countless of times that you understand this whole situation well enough for both of us. And that is the truth.” John smiled.

“But why am I terrified?”

“Because it is normal.”

“So all of those people I have arranged weddings for, they felt like that even if they were in love?”

“Especially when they are in love.” John motioned with his fingers again, making Sherlock put his hand over his. “I am a bit terrified too.”

“But not like me.” Sherlock sighed.

“Yes. You are taking it too hard, love. You are not really sleeping are you?”

“It’s just… as it’s getting closer, I am terrified. What if it’s not perfect, John?”

“Do you think the perfect colour palette or a delicious menu makes a wedding perfect?” John wanted to laugh because apparently despite his age, the man he was marrying could be a child from time to time.

“I think your answer is no.” Sherlock looked thoughtful. “I would say yes though. Because everything is important. I can't get married in peace if the shade of blue is wrong.”

“We love each other, what can be more perfect than that?”

“I do love you.” Sherlock smiled at last. The imagery of tousled hair, sleepy eyed and full of childish smile Sherlock was something John never thought he would get used to. He wasn’t. But he also was.

“Not more than I love you.” He replied with a smile, holding Sherlock’s hand tighter.

****

“So I don’t get to see your suit? Are you sure about that?” Sherlock asked, blocking John's path in the hallway.

“For the hundredth time, nope.” John replied, putting the scarf around his neck.

“That’s mine.” Sherlock stopped him, replacing his hands with his own, “I should put it on you every time. Makes me relive a cherished memory.”

“I could say my most cherished one.” John said smiling, and Sherlock tried to reason with himself on how to keep breathing and focusing on John while making his fingers work to tie the knot and still keep standing there.

“But can’t really be sure if it is the most cherished one.” John’s fingers were over his. Firm, sure.

“And why is that?” Sherlock asked.

“Because it’s impossible to choose one memory when each of the moments spent with you are my best ones.” John smiled fondly.

Luckiest person on earth felt like an exaggeration before that. But after that moment, it didn’t.

“I am going to marry you.” Sherlock murmured, smoothing down John's coat collar.

“It’s more of a mutual agreement.” John chuckled.

“In seven days.”

“Yes, that's a fact.”

“I know it’s a platitude. But I can't wait to marry you John.”

“Neither can I.”

*************

“The florist hasn’t called yet?”

“Sherlock, it’s fine.”

“He was supposed to call seven minutes ago.”

“It will be alright. A seven minute late phone call doesn’t matter. He will be there on time.”

“It matters!”

Irene was giving him a look as if he was being unreasonable. But Sherlock was adamant that he was not. Seven minutes was salient. A murder can happen in seven minutes, a relationship can break in seven minutes, John could turn him into a puddle of nothingness in seven minutes with his words.

“It’s your wedding. Stop stressing!” Irene sighed.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Sherlock almost screamed. “Exactly why I need to stress. Because it is not just anyone’s wedding. It’s John’s. With me. ”

“No. You don’t.” Greg replied from behind.

“When did you get in here?” Sherlock sneered turning back. “I didn’t see you. Where is Mycroft?”

“I got here before her, thanks for noticing. See what stress does to you?” Greg nodded. “And yes, your brother is doing his assigned duty if that’s what you are asking. He is bringing your parents.”

“Oh God, they are late.” The realization hit him again. “Please tell me nothing else is late.”

“Hey, hey, hey breathe, you clot.” Irene rushed towards Sherlock, clasping his hands with her own.

“It’s your wedding day. You don’t get to stress. That’s on us. You get to smile and greet people and think about seeing John.”

“I haven’t seen him since yesterday. Why did I even agree with this stupid tradition?” Sherlock didn’t miss that the words made Irene suddenly take a nervous gulp.

“You can call him. Why aren’t you calling then?”

“No, I don’t want to call him because his voice might make me more nervous. Worse than I already am. And that’s not welcome.” Sherlock replied.

Irene opened her mouth to give a reply to that but Sherlock interrupted.

“But that’s enough about me. What are you hiding?”

“I am… not hiding anything.” She smiled wide. Ah. It was more apparent now.

“You are. What is it? Is there something not right?” A small fear rose to his chest. “Did John say anything?”

“God. Please. Have mercy on him and me.”

“So you are hiding something?”

“Okay yes. It’s a surprise.” Her shoulders slouched in defeat.

“The kind of surprise I will appreciate?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have known you for long enough to know at least that. Trust me? A little?” She replied, mimicking a pinch with her fingers.

“Okay.”

“And stop stressing.”

Irene left the room. Greg followed behind.

“Greg?”

“Yes.” Greg turned around. And before Sherlock could say anything he continued. “The rings right? They are fine. Now you get dressed. I will be downstairs having a cuppa with Mrs Hudson.”

“Alright.”

Greg left the room, And looking at the dust particles dancing in the crisp sunlight, and listening to the footsteps fading down the staircase, the realization hit him again. He was marrying John. He was getting married. In his worst nightmares or weirdest dreams the thought of committing to someone, or loving someone or being attracted someone enough was never a thought.

And there he was. Getting married. Being in love. Unable to wait any further to commit.

“I am so in love.” He told himself. “I can’t believe myself.” He chuckled, rubbing his hands over his face. “This is almost idiotic.”

The dress bag spread over the bed. John’s slippers by the nightstand. A half read medical journal beside the reading glasses. A mug under the bed from two days ago which if John had seen, Sherlock would have glimpsed what hell looks like.

He felt like the green carnation of the boutonniere was smiling and congratulating him.

“Thank you.” Sherlock whispered at the room before removing the dressing gown.

****

It was more than a pleasant surprise to discover Clara at his sister’s house when he walked in through the door.

“Hey John.” Clara’s smile was warm like ever and her presence just as calm. And her hug as welcome as ever.

“Hey… Where is Harry?” John had lost the ability of speech for a moment. Trying to tie all the scattered thoughts together.

“She’s out for a bit. Give me your bags.” Clara had almost snatched his things from his hands and started walking toward the guest room.

He had thought his words through carefully before saying, not trying to outright imply anything. Maybe Clara was just the plus one. But her comfortable pyjamas and the state of the flat implied something else entirely.

“Clara?”

“Yes?” Clara had an amused smile on her face.

“You are Harry’s… plus one?”

“Oh John, you can do better than that.” Clara laughed, carefully putting John’s bag on his bed.

“You two are…”

“Back again.”

“Oh…”

“At least trying to work it out this time.”

“Good.”

“She is sober.” Clara smiled. “And isn’t destructive anymore. And yes, I still love her. We were meant to be together no matter what. A divorce couldn’t stop that. Nor Harry’s love for alcohol.”

“Good. Very good.” John whispered.

“You aren’t happy?”

“Are you kidding me? I am happier than you can imagine!” John had almost screamed. “It’s just. She didn’t even tell me. Not even a hint.”

“She wanted to surprise you.” Clara replied giggling.

“She absolutely nailed that.”

****

“I am still at awe of you. How did you even manage to keep him in the dark about this?” Harry leaned on the doorway, dressed and ready. Behind her, Clara, with a mug of coffee in hand.

“Like you kept me in the dark about that.” John motioned toward the smiling Clara, who was letting out a satisfied groan after a sip of the coffee.

“Clara and I getting together is not the same as you keeping a secret from Sherlock.”  Harry rolled her eyes. “You live with him.”

“Shut up. I can do stuff.” John narrowed his eyes at his sister. “I am good at hiding things.”

“Oh don’t I know that.” Harry snorted. “Our old man left the earth totally oblivious to your sexual orientation.”

“Good for me and him both.” John chucked. Did his hand shake a bit buttoning the last button? It might have. Too much adrenaline from the excitement of the forthcoming hours. And a bit of a inexplicable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you nervous, John?” Clara asked.

“Not at all.” He was lying. “Okay, a bit.”

“How wonderful it is that you two are getting married at the same time we got together. Some cosmic coincidence.”

“Has to be.” John replied, adjusting his belt. “Universe got tired of our shit.”

“I fully support the universe.” Clara giggled and kissed Harry on the cheek.

Everything looked perfect and flawless. In his life. In the lives around him. Maybe the universe was really tired of making him suffer.

John looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked happy. Very happy.  He couldn't wait to get back to Sherlock.

He hadn't seen him since the night before and missed him immensely.

“Don’t call me until we get married. I don’t wanna get more overwhelmed then I already am.” Sherlock had said between kisses. “But do text me. Continuously.”

**We are getting in the car.**

 

**I miss you. -SH**

 

**I will meet you at the altar in less than an hour. And I miss you too.**

 

**I will be the one in a grey suit. -SH**

 

**Thanks. Didn’t know that.**

 

**I wonder what colour you will be in? -SH**

 

**Something you will like.**

 

**Good. And I love you.-SH**

 

**I love you too.**

****

“You look just like your father.” Violet wiped a tear from her eyes.

“Are you just noticing that today, mother? I can vaguely recall the past two hundred times you uttered that exact same phrase.”

“Oh shut it, you.” She sniffled. “I am saying you are looking exactly like your father as he looked on our wedding day. I remember my heart trying to give up when I walked the aisle. He looked so handsome.”

That would make Sherlock roll his eyes again at any moment of the day. But, maybe it was because of the wedding itself, it didn’t. It made him take a deep breath and not give away how fast his heart was racing since he stepped foot inside the venue. If everything goes right, in about an hour, he will be married to John.

“Not sure about the lack of a tie though.” Mrs Holmes motioned with her fingers. “Are you sure about not wearing one?”

“I am pretty sure, mother. Don’t you have other business to do?” Sherlock replied in an impatient tone.

“No. It’s my son’s wedding day. What do I have on hand except watching you get married?” She looked at her wristwatch.“Where is John?”

“On the way.” Sherlock tapped his foot anxiously. If traffic was right and everything, it would take John exactly twenty seven minutes to reach him according to his last text.

“I am so happy for you, Sherlock.” Sherlock turned is face to see his mother teary eyed. “I honestly thought I would never get to see this day.”

“Don’t cry now, Mummy.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“It’s my little son’s wedding.” She sniffled again. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.”

“I am hardly little in any measure.”

“Let me have this my way, will you Billy?”

“Mother!” Sherlock groaned.

“You are such a control freak, Billy. Can’t you even let me cry at my heart’s wish?”

“You will have plenty of opportunities later. That’s what I am telling you.” Sherlock replied, throwing a small smile at his mother.

“You are right.” Violet smiled back.

“Now go back to Mrs Hudson. She has a lot of complaints about me for you. You will enjoy them immensely.”

“So happy for you. You don’t even know.” She said hugging him tightly.

“He is a good man Billy. John is a very good man.”

Sherlock couldn’t help smiling more profusely at that.

“I know Mummy. And I am happy too.”

****

“How’s he doing?” John stood up , watching Irene walk towards him.

“A bit worse than you.” Irene replied. “But a lot better than I expected him to be.”

“Is everyone here?”

“Yes. Everyone and everything. But absolutely no hurry John.” She smiled fondly. “Take your time.”

“I have been lecturing him for months to not freak out. But looks like I am the one who needed the actual lecture.” John smiled nervously.

“Please don’t freak out.” Irene looked mildly horrified.

“Bloody hell… I am marrying Sherlock Holmes. _The_ Sherlock Holmes.” John sat back on the chair.

“You live with him, John. Please don’t freak out about that fact five minutes before your wedding.” Irene pleaded in a hushed tone.

“I saw him in a magazine, okay? Mary showed me that. And I thought… this man looks like he doesn’t even eat human food.”

“He does look a bit inhuman sometimes.”

John wasn't really listening to her words.

“But um… now I know that he snores when he is flat on his back. He drools when he is sleeping on his chair. He has weird habits. He is unbelievably human. And he decided to love me.”

“Scary, isn’t it? To know someone that much? When they look completely different from the outside?”

“It is… a bit.”

“Like can you imagine that Molly likes spanking?” Irene said nonchalantly.

“That’s…”

“Too much information. But look.” She shrugged. “You stopped panicking.”

“You are....”

“Don’t even try to understand what I am, John. Now let’s go. Everyone’s waiting… And Sherlock will be here at any moment.

The door opened and he could see everyone. Violet nodded at him. Harry with Clara. Clara blew a kiss. Ella, with the calm smile still on her face, and some pride of achievement added to that. Mrs Hudson beamed.

Mike smiled at him. So did Greg. Even Mycroft looked like he was moderately pleased with everything.

The arch of the white roses smelled divine. And the music started immediately after he took a calming breath.

John looked at his left. Held by both his parents, in a grey suit, looking impossibly handsome, Sherlock was walking in.

****

At first he thought his eyes were playing tricks. That somehow his deepest desires had started to manifest and while he walked the aisle and was blocking his reality. So he blinked as discreetly as possible. But that didn't wash away the image. But somehow made his vision clearer.

It was John. Smiling like the sun and with mischief in his eyes. And not wearing a wedding suit. Instead wearing something he never imagined John would.

It was John. In his uniform.

“Sherlock, you alright?” His mother whispered from his side. “Looks like your steps faltered a beat.” A slight press of hand on his own, “Breathe sweetheart. Also my goodness. John's looking handsome.”

“Yes. I am alright.” Sherlock replied, clearing his throat.

Well he was alright. Because it took twelve more steps to reach John. But by that time Sherlock hadn’t fainted although forgetting to breathe or made a fool of himself in any way. But the continuous thud, thud, thud of his heart and the wish to just fall on his knees had intensified.

“Well?” John bit his lips. “You have something to say?”

The medals on John’s military uniform reflected the light in a perfectly pleasing way. And John looked like a picture. The one he wanted to see but never got to yet. It was never out of his mind, who John was before the injury. What still peeked through his character. The voice in which sometimes made Sherlock finish his dinner and stop his sulky tantrums.

But maybe he didn’t expect the uniform to hit him so hard. He had asked John for his war time pictures. And John had either changed the subject or smiled an ambiguous smile. Sherlock had concluded that as the war broke him in a sense, John would not like to discuss further about it. Except the bits and pieces he just decided to talk about abruptly. When it’s too calm outside and John was in the mood. The stories of injuries and willpower and people making it when they are not supposed to. Or people not making it when they were supposed to. How much John hated the war and what he had to see.  Sherlock loved those moments, but never asked for them. It was fine as far as John was comfortable.

“A lot of things.” Sherlock realized his cheeks were warm, usually a sign of blushing. He would have prefered not to, publicly. But surprisingly, it wasn’t so bad.

“As in?” John asked cheekily.

“How you totally ruined the colour palette I finalised.”

John’s eyebrows quirked up at that.

“And you have problems with that?” He cocked his head, maybe a bit arrogantly, but mostly in a very attractive way.

“Hell no. None at all.” Sherlock smirked. “Now I see what Irene was trying to hide earlier.” He looked at his side to find Irene smiling a victorious smile.

“Should we start then?” The minister took the opportunity of the little silence.

“You look practically ravishing.” John whispered.

“And you look devastatingly good, John. You are killing me. You know you are.” Sherlock shook his head as if disappointed.

“We should really start.” The minister sounded very desperate.

“Yes, go on. Everyone is in a hurry.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

Words faded, and the world started to go around one human. He had blue eyes, never settling hair colour, a smile that can induce pain like pin pricks inside.

Words stopped meaning anything until Sherlock heard a rather jarring sound of a  throat clearing from his side.

“You should talk now.” Greg whispered.

“Huh?”

“Your vows idiot.”

“Oh… yes.” Sherlock started to fumble nervously through his pocket. He had cue cards ready. Points and bullet points and everything perfectly arranged one after another. So nothing's left to talk about John when he is supposed to talk about John.

But holding the cards in hand, Sherlock felt the most idiotic he had ever felt in life.

“Sherlock?” John blinked his eyes with a hint of a smile on his lips.

“These are useless.” Sherlock replied putting the cards back together again.

“You drove me mad writing those.” Greg hissed.

“Shut up.”

Greg replied with something incomprehensible at that.

“Yes. I, being the controlling, arrogant bastard I am, wrote points on cue cards so I can have the perfect vows.”

“Wow, what a day. He is confessing.” The whisper was definitely from Irene. Because another female voice shushed the reply. Probably Molly.

“But I just realized how idiotic that is.”

John smiled encouragingly.

Sherlock took a deep breath.

“John, John Watson. Love of my life. Former soldier, as apparent from his current state of clothing, and a compassionate doctor. John Watson.”

Words were trying to come out all at once.

“I wrote down about how good you are as a flatmate. Always doing more than you actually should. That includes keeping up with my tantrums, my infamous mood and the whole of me. I wrote about how good you are as a partner. Always there for me, no matter how hard to maintain I can be sometimes.”

There was a hint of a blush on John’s cheek at that.

“I wrote down how I know how good a husband you will be to me. A pillar for me to lean on. A home for me always.”

John was smiling big, and shaking his head.

“But I forgot to write how good a human you are. How you saved me from myself. How you made me feel things I had no idea was possible to feel. You keep me right. You keep me in line. You are the sun to which I want to be the earth and go around and around and never stop.”

Sherlock stopped to breathe.

“So yes. I love you John. I can’t wait to get married to you and be like that forever.”

There were sounds of sniffles and giggles and low throat clears from around him.

“Was that okay? Did I… do something wrong?”

“No you idiot, you did too good.” John chuckled, his eyes glossy. “And now my words will look like a kindergarten poem.”

“You don’t even have to say anything John. You say them enough everyday.”

“Still. I want to.”

John walked closer and held both of Sherlock’s hands in his own.

“Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock bloody Holmes.”

A roll of laughter happened at that.

“When I first saw you, I had no idea that I would be able to tolerate you enough. Let alone marry you.” John pursed his lips. Yes he was definitely teary-eyed. Sherlock could feel his own eyes slowly welling up.

“But here we are.” Sherlock replied with a smile.

“Yes. Here we are.” John’s fingers went tighter.

“You are a magnificent, eccentric, crazy, egoistic bastard. There. I added some more adjectives.”

Another wave of laughter ensued at that.

“But also you are none of them. You are the man who gets scared if I have a fever. The man who knows I need something even before I ask for it. You let me be alone when I need to. Wrap yourself around me when I need you to. Sometimes when I don’t need you to. You have the kindest heart I have ever seen in my life. It comes with a hard outer shell sometimes. But I got the key.” John was laughing by then. The corner of his eyes crinkled, and Sherlock couldn’t help to feel a bit proud.

“So don’t ever change. Keep doing things to make me angry, to make me happy, to make me feel alive. Because God knows I wasn’t alive before I met you.”

“I love you too. Now let's get this over with because I haven’t kissed you from yesterday and this,” John's eyes roamed vertically as if sizing Sherlock up, “isn’t helping.”

Sherlock tried to think a reply to that, hateful how his brain was working slowly. But the minister interrupted.

“So Sherlock Holmes, do you take this man...”

“Of course I do. Why is that even a question?” Sherlock almost snapped, startling the poor man.

“And you John Watson? Do you...”

“I bloody well do.” John’s lips quirked slightly.

“Okay so the rings.” The minister murmured.

“Gregory. Rings.”

“Wow, he knows my full name.” Greg snorted, handing the rings. “What have you done to him, John?”

Sherlock didn't even try to hide that fact that his fingers were trembling while putting the ring on John's finger.

“Still can’t quite grasp the concept of engraving each others’ name on the rings Sherlock. Feels quite like branding you know. Minus the hot pokers.” John mumbled, putting the white gold ring on Sherlock’s finger.

“That is the exact intention, John.” John’s eyes went wide at that. “I have your name on mine so don’t even argue.” Sherlock narrowed his eyes.

“You’ve got issues, love.”

“Oh. You can punish me about that tonight.” Sherlock lowered his voice.

“Ahem.” The minister cleared his throat noisily.

“Oh yes, sorry go on.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Dr John Hamish Watson. I now pronounce you husbands. You may…”

Who cared what else he said. At least Sherlock didn't when John was dragging him down by putting a hand on his neck and giving him the kiss to end all kisses.

“That… you may kiss.” Sounded like the minister was relieved.

“We are married John!” Sherlock said breathlessly. Among the sound of deafening claps and whistling.

“Hell yes, we are.” John replied. And kissed him again.

Then there were a wave of hugs and kisses on cheeks, mummy’s tears, now running like a dam broke. Irene’s comments about how Sherlock was blushing. Congratulations, congratulations, You are married! Cameras flashing. Happy pictures. So much happiness. So happy.

He was. He was free and floating and happy and John stood there to be the guide home. Forever.

****

[ _♫ I knew I loved you then, but you'd never know_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yBSrShgC9o)  
[ _'Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go ♫_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9yBSrShgC9o)

 

“I taught you well.”

“You did. No doubt there.” John replied, taking a step back, feeling Sherlock’s hand sliding down to somewhere which was no way his waist.

“Mmmhmm. My John.” Ah yes Sherlock was a bit drunk and was now squeezing his arse.

“We will talk about your certain affinity to ownership tonight.” John commented, subtly trying to move Sherlock’s hands and failing.

“Eager for that.” Sherlock whispered. “And don’t even try to move my hand. I am not moving.”

“Oh yeah well.” John chuckled.“You haven’t told me the name of the violin piece from earlier yet. It’s unfair, considering how it’s a gift for me.”

“Warm honey.” Sherlock drawled out the words.

“What?” John tilted his head back to look at Sherlock’s face clearly.

“That’s one of the colours in your hair. I named them.” Sherlock sounded and looked proud.

“What are the rest?”

“I will tell you tonight.” Sherlock giggled.

“You are a little drunk.” 

“Please take advantage of me very soon.” Sherlock said with a wink.

“Oh I plan to.” John replied, pulling Sherlock closer.

“Here love muffins. Please separate for a bit and let me have chance to dance with your husband.” Irene made an attempt to physically insert herself between them.

“You might steal him. He is too good.” Sherlock protested weakly.

“Don’t swing that way remember. I have a wife.”

“He is too good a catch.”

“Go away. Dance with John’s sister.”

Sherlock mumbled something before walking in Harry’s direction.

“So John?” Irene wiggled her eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“Still scared about marrying the guy from the magazine?”

“Fortunately no.”

“Good boy.”

“Thank you.”

“No Dr Watson, thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know for what. For choosing him. For being with him.”

“Irene...”

“Just let me say thank you, okay?” She looked happy and relieved. “I have wanted this to happen for so long. You have no idea. It took so long to see him happy. Thank you for being his happiness.”

“You are welcome.” John replied smiling.

He spotted Sherlock at last. Dancing with Harry.

The word husband still felt alien. But he would get used to it. He wanted to get used to it as soon as possible.

Harry whispered something in Sherlock’s ear, and Sherlock let out a hearty laugh. And then his eyes fixed on John’s.

 

_♫I'm so in love with you, and I hope you know_  
_Darling your love is more than worth its weight in gold_  
_We've come so far my dear_  
_Look how we've grown_  
_And I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old_

_Just say you won't let go♫_

 

The crystal chandelier dimmed in retrospect, the chatter of the people disappeared. Felt like someone even stopped the music. He couldn’t hear the lyrics of the song anymore.

There was only Sherlock. His hair reflecting the light, his face flushed from the smiles and the dance. His eyes piercing as ever. The white gold band on this finger shined. Or maybe John was just imagining it.

“I love you.” Sherlock mouthed.

“I love you too.” John mouthed back.

Thank God love was real, and things find a way to work out in the end. Because John got payback, incentive and some more.

A lot more.

 

_**~The End~** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is. The end. After about 4 months. I still can't believe I actually pulled this off. I still remember Claudia posting this prompt on tumblr and I told her that I will do it but it will take some time. And I really took some time. But did it eventually. And what I can't believe is the encouragements. The amount of people who subscribed to read it. The comments after every update, the amount of kudos (Most I have ever got in any of my stories). Thanks everyone. For everything. For the patience, the love, the comments here. The comments on tumblr. For letting me know which part of my writing you liked the best. For building up my confident when I was pretty sure I was writing badly. I owe you all so much.
> 
> I am pretty sure there has never been a Sherlock as wedding planner story before. I am so childishly happy to be the first one to write one, no matter the quality of my writing. I had to churn out an original plotline for this story. And I am actually a bit proud of it.  
> If anyone is still wondering about the chapter names, they are actually a quote from The Reader by Bernhard Schlink. The whole quote is this :  
>  ** _"I'm not frightened. I'm not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. It will sharpen it, forgive its vice. I will be the only angel you need. You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you and say: Only one thing can make a soul complete and that thing is love.”_**
> 
> Lastly, big thanks to Claudia for the prompt. Thank you for the idea of it. It was very enjoyable to write about. And very fulfilling. Lots of kisses for you. Then obviously Kate. For keeping my plot in line and making pretty edits for the story. Love you babe. Then Lou. For keeping up with my obsessive behaviour and checking each chapter fifty times before I post it. What would I do without you. Then Luna. My human alarm clock and continuous support.  
> I am almost sad to end this story. But they are happy and everything. What else can I ask for.
> 
> So for now, adios amigos. This is not the end of my writing of course. I have so many stories to tell. But this one will hold a very special place in my heart. I actually cried writing this note. This was a big part of my week. I don't know what do do on Sundays now. I hope I write something soon enough to fulfill the void.
> 
> As always. Lots of love. Will miss this a lot. Will miss you guys and your lovely comments a lot. And will miss my eccentric wedding planner Sherlock and the love of his life. ♥♥♥
> 
> P.S: Don't forget to check out the beautiful [fanart](http://221booksinthetardis.tumblr.com/post/172552370998/for-love-in-mind-palace-a-scene-from-her) by the lovely [@221booksinthetardis](http://221booksinthetardis.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Super cool [edit](https://murphyswhitehair.tumblr.com/post/171367428637/would-you-sing-up-to-johnlockflix-a-streaming) by [@murphyswhitehair](https://murphyswhitehair.tumblr.com).
> 
> Marvelous [fanvid](http://mikabee.tumblr.com/post/173102605397/delicate-taylor-swift-cover-by-sam-tsui-and) for this story by the talented [@mikabee](http://mikabee.tumblr.com).
> 
> And if you are not from UK or not familiar with Fennes, [This is where the boys got married.](https://www.fennes.co.uk/gallery/)


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